


Born To Die

by CallaMae



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Espionage, F/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 80,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallaMae/pseuds/CallaMae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christine Roi is not an average woman, and as far as anyone knows she doesn't exist. Hidden under the alias, Christian Woodridge, she is trained as a paratrooper to cover her true mission. This is her story of war, the brothers she found and the ones she lost, of espionage, and maybe even a little love. Liebgott/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. feet don't fail me now

Captain Sobel stood outside of Colonel Sink's office waiting to be given the order to enter and told why his audience had been requested. He glanced at the small figure sitting to his right donning the standard uniform of the regiment, the same as his own, the only difference was the dark coiled bun on the back of that person's head; other than a feminine cut face and the hair there was no other suggestion that he was looking at a woman. And yet despite the flat chest and the uniform, giving every indication this was a man, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was in fact staring at a woman.

"Enter."

Sobel startled and tore his eyes from the person before entering the Colonel's office and saluting. "At ease," Sink said looking up from the folder he held in his hand. "I'm proud to say Easy Company has the best performance record in the 2nd Battalion, Captain Sobel."

"Thank you, sir," he said, his pride and arrogance swelling at the recognition.

The Colonel nodded before turning back to the file. "Which is why when I was told of a recruitment, Easy was the first company I thought of," he told him.

Sobel's brows furrowed as he thought of the person sitting outside of the office. "A recruitment, sir?" he asked.

Sink looked at the man before motioning to a chair. "Have a seat Captain Sobel, you're gonna need it," he said preparing the man as best he could for the news. "This here is Christian Woodridge," he said handing Sobel the file. "He volunteered a little over four months ago with the first of 'em."

He read the details of this young man, looking at the picture and seeing it wasn't who was still waiting behind the door, and paused at his medical evaluation. "Permission to speak, sir?" he asked waiting for Sink's approval. "It says he has a heart condition, he didn't make it past the first day."

Sink sat for a moment before nodding and pulling another file. "This is the recruitment," he said without offering it to the captain before him. "This stays between you and me for the time being, is that clear?" he asked, a warning in his voice that had Sobel nodding immediately.

When Colonel Sink finally relinquished the file Sobel opened it to see a picture of the woman who was sitting outside, who he now knew for certain was a woman; Christine Roi. There was very little information filled in: no family, no date of birth. The only thing known about her was the year she was born and that she was found in an orphanage in France.

"Now I know what you're thinking Captain Sobel," Sink told him seeing the unhappiness in his furrowed brows, "we can't bring a woman into the battalion the men wouldn't be able to handle it. I held my own reservation about her before I got the chance to see her grit, that girl out there is made of tougher stuff than the men here. I have no doubt she can handle her own against them, but that's not the problem." He looked up at his orderly. "Go tell her it'll only be another few minutes," he said, nodding when he was saluted and waited til the door was closed before he looked back to Sobel. "I assure you Captain Sobel she is more than capable to keep up with your men and she's very willing to learn. She's already completed basic training, she can get up and back down Currahee in 33 minutes; she is more prepared to meet the demands of being a paratrooper than all of us. Now I understand if you refuse to allow her into your Company, you are not obligated to agree and I won't think less of you if you do; but she's the best of the best, and she deserves to train alongside those who match her strength."

Sobel sat trying to understand what was being asked of him, not entirely sure he could comprehend a woman being a paratrooper; a woman among an entire battalion of men. There was something not right about this, something he couldn't find a reason for.

"Go ahead," Sink said before he asked if he could speak freely.

He cleared his throat before he made to speak. "Who is she?" he asked simply, knowing from the lack of information on her she must've been someone. "An ordinary woman wouldn't be assigned to an all male battalion," he said knowing it was true, it just wasn't possible.

Sink nodded in agreement, knowing she was no ordinary woman. "Between you and me," he reminded Sobel. "She's OSS."

Sobel's eyes bulged in shock. "We're recruiting a spy?" he asked before straightening his back realizing he'd spoken out of turn. "Sir."

"It's alright, I wasn't any happier about this," he said raising a hand to brush aside his formality. "But I'm telling you, that girl is a force to be reckoned with and she's intelligent. There are other 'skills' she has that I'm not at liberty to say, but she's as much of an experiment as the 506th which is why they placed her here. Like I said, you don't have to allow her in Easy I know it's a lot to ask; but she will be in the 506th whether we like it or not." He waited as Sobel continued to think, obviously wanting to say no – but there was so much promise with a spy, so much she could do, so much fascination. And so he slammed a hand on his desk pleased when Sobel gave his agreement. "Alright, bring her in."

Christine walked into the office and stood staring at the older man. "I'm supposed to salute, right?" she asked not entirely sure, she wasn't trained to be a soldier at least not yet.

The Colonel smiled amused before motioning to the chair beside Sobel. "I'll let you get away with it this time Private Woodridge," he told her. "As you can tell Captain Sobel she needs to learn how to be a soldier, and there isn't anyone more equipped for the job."

"Thank you sir," Sobel said earnestly, pleased he thought so.

Sink looked between the two growing serious. "Secrecy is of the utmost importance, not even the men in Easy can know the details of what she's assigned. Now, I bet you both want to know why you're here," he said looking to Christine. "You are being hidden within our regiment, taking on the identity of Christian Woodridge as your cover. Your orders will come to me directly from General Donovan and I will give them to your Captain," he said motioning to Sobel, "to tell you where you need to go to meet up with your unit. If you don't have a mission you will be with Easy Company, and if you find yourself on the front line then that's why you're being trained with them."

Christine nodded understanding the need for a cover, if and when she was captured she needed a solid story to fall back on – and being trained as a paratrooper with a Company would give her even more of a story to give; she was trained to die before she gave up any information, and it hurt less to give them something. She could play a sister posing as her brother, taking his place so he wouldn't be drafted what with his weak heart – she'd still be tortured but it'd be far less than if they suspected she was a spy, they'd also probably kill her sooner.

"If there aren't any questions," Sink said looking from Christine to Sobel before nodding. "There's a platoon leader in Dog Company, an acquaintance of yours who's offered you to shadow him as you see what will be expected of you here in Toccoa," he said seeing from the curling of the side of her mouth she knew who it was. "I don't believe I need to tell you the consequence of becoming too close with any of these men," he warned. "You'll spend a week with him learning the routine, begin the rumors of a stray woman among us," he said knowing it would spread faster than a wild fire. "You're dismissed," he told her, smiling when she rose and saluted him. "Good girl, now git." He waited until his door was closed again before turning to Sobel. "I assume you have more questions."

Christine stepped out into the overbearing muggy air, squinting against the brightness of the sun; wondering what exactly she was being thrown into.

"Christine Roi, you grew up kid," she heard a familiar voice say from behind her.

She turned to the man she met in New York a few years ago; she'd been young, too young to even be thought of as a woman. He hadn't changed at all, same cold face, same dangerous eyes, same shit eating grin at the sight of her. "See you got my letter," she said knowing he wouldn't have even known she was coming if he hadn't. "I was kinda hoping I wouldn't have to see your ugly face so soon, Ron Speirs."

His grin widened as he grabbed her bag and led her in the camp. "You know I've always been the looker out of the two of us," he said, his face now hard and stoic as they walked. "It's good you got your breasts wrapped tight, might keep 'em off you for a bit but that won't last," he told her softly as they drew stares – the men around them taking note of the bun on the back of her head, not sure if she was actually a woman.

"I'm guessing you're gonna be the reason they stay away," she said taking note of the way the men glanced warily at him. His only answer was to look down at her with a brow raised and she could only shake her head, knowing he was as manic as she was.

…

_Three Days Later_

"I'm tellin' ya, there ain't no goddamn woman," Bill Guarnere said after hearing yet again someone had seen her. Only problem was the person who saw her was never the one talking about her, anywhere in camp it was the same – people only saw her in passing if they saw her at all.

"I'm serious this time," Luz said, apart of the bet on who'd see her first. "She's in Dog Company, saw her with my own eyes walking with Speirs."

There were several murmurs at that name, his reputation already preceding him. "But even if you did how do we know you're not making it up?" Muck asked looking to Malarkey who voiced his agreement.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready to run up Currahee?" Lipton asked quieting them.

"Aw shit," Bill muttered when he stepped out of the barracks. "That's a broad, in uniform." The men rushed out to see a woman with a dark ponytail, and sure enough she was walking beside Speirs.

"Hey Woodridge."

She turned to the company of men gathered staring at her to see a familiar dark head walking around them with a smile. "Nixon," she greeted stopping to stand in front of him, knowing the man beside him was Lieutenant Winters from how much Nixon told her about him. "Am I supposed to salute you two?" she asked, still not able to wrap her head around exactly who she was supposed to give a salute.

Winters furrowed his brows confused and turned to Nixon to see his eyes on the woman. "We'll work on that," he told her still grinning. "I met her in Intelligence, we get her in a few days," he told Winters watching his brows raise in surprise.

"She's comin' to Easy?" a voice said from behind them.

She looked at the group of them realizing of course this would be her Company, they all looked pretty good – in better shape than many other companies, though she wasn't sure about Sobel. "So this is my Company," she said looking them all over before turning back to Nixon, hearing the not very quieted talk amongst the men beside them.

"You got breasts under that shirt?"

The men quieted as she turned to see the lanky man who'd asked. "No," she answered blandly. "And as far as you're concerned, my dick's bigger than yours."

Bill turned to Liebgott and gave a loud laugh, already liking the woman. Liebgott watched her with a smirk on his face, she was fiery. He watched her take a cigarette from Speirs as they walked away, feeling a hand clap his shoulder. "Way to go Liebgott, insult her before she even gets here."

"Ah fuck off," he said shoving the hand away before looking back to her, catching her eye and seeing her grin before she turned away; shit if he didn't already like her too.

She took a drag of her cigarette before looking up at Ron. "Any way you can switch to Easy Company?" she asked already knowing his answer.

He nudged her as they walked. "You're on your own with them, kid," he told her. He looked down to see her irritable eyes and he nearly smiled, a twitch of the corner of his mouth but she knew him well enough to catch it, and he swung an arm around her shoulders hating every second of his gesture – but knowing it annoyed her even more.


	2. take me to the finish line

Christine walked down the line of barracks looking for one man in particular before she left the camp for the weekend to continue her training with the OSS, finding his gangly form in PT gear. "Captain Sobel," she called catching his attention before she jogged to where he stood. She looked up at him with her brows drawn together before she quickly stood at attention and saluted him.

He gave her a quick nod. "Walk with me Private, what do you need," he said knowing she needed to learn saluting faster, having brought it up to Colonel Sink who'd informed him she was learning a multitude of other things and that she was confident by the end of next week to know it all. And as much as he wanted to get in her face and yell as he would any of the other men he couldn't help but be impressed by how fast she was already picking it all up.

"I've heard that a common punishment for infractions is to revoke weekend passes," she said keeping pace with his long legs as he marched through the camp.

"Yes Private Woodridge, you will also receive the same consequence for you own; I hope you do not expect special treatment," he said looking down at her displeased.

She released an irritable breath and swallowed her angry retort. "Of course not sir," she agreed. "I was told to inform you that I don't have many passes that can be revoked, I get one every two months the rest of my weekends are continuing my training."

"How so?" he asked slowing his pace.

"Well," she started, "on weekends like this one I'll go up to Virginia and show them my progress here or actually train there like I will this time. But most weekends I'll remain here and complete the list that's mailed to me, such as learning German Intelligence," she told him.

He nodded as he thought on what she said, not liking that she only had so many weekend passes for him to revoke. "Do you get reports?"

Her brows furrowed as she looked over at him, seeing him staring straight ahead as they came up on Easy Company. "Yes sir," she answered.

"Good, I expect one every Monday except the weekends you have to yourself. Show me that you are not complete waste of time," he said raising his voice so the men heard, proving she would get no special treatment.

"Of course, sir," she said glaring daggers at the back of his head. "I also have two requests if you have the time, sir, if not it can wait until Monday."

Sobel and many of the men turned to her surprised at her audacity, and even more that he hadn't yelled at her yet. "Continue," he said interested in what her requests were, Colonel Sink having told him she knew exactly what she wanted to get out of the paratroopers and there wasn't much she wouldn't do to get it.

She nodded knowing he might refuse both but knowing they were both rational, and she wasn't above going to Sink and asking him because he would very easily permit it. "When I go to war with Easy Company I won't be taking all of the same equipment as them, much of mine will be different and I won't be carrying half of what they will. I was wondering if you would allow me to carry my gear as my full pack," she said waiting for his response.

Sobel looked down at her wondering exactly what she asking, and if she was asking to carry less than the men behind her who stared intently at her back. "When you say you'll be carrying less than the men," he said trailing off and letting her finish – knowing this moment could decide whether the men would accept her, and he wished she'd ask to carry less so that they wouldn't.

"I understand how it sounds," she said having known he'd see it that way – she knew he didn't want her there. "But most of my missions will be to infiltrate enemy camps and take their intelligence, and depending on who is in the camp possibly taking only one of them alive. The key to my success is stealth and that means I carry less so I can move silent and quickly. That puts me at a great inconvenience if I'm under fire but it's a necessary risk and I need to learn how to make do with what I'll have available to me."

He stared down at her curiously before looking at the few men behind her whispering amongst each other. "Request granted," he said shocking them all, even himself.

"Thank you sir," she said surprised at how easily he had agreed.

He gave a curt nod. "It was a reasonable one," he told her, realizing she was very serious about her training – more so than half the men in the camp. "What was the second request?"

She took a breath before speaking, this being the one he was more likely to refuse. "To keep my being here unnoticed by anyone outside the regiment I will not achieve a higher rank, I'm very aware I'll always be a private. And so I understand that asking to sit in on your officer meetings is a waste of your time,"

"But it would be invaluable information to you," he said. Colonel Sink had made it clear to him she would take every opportunity there was to learn more details of being paratrooper whether they applied to her or not, and the very frank answer as to why was she would have more information as Christian Woodridge if she was taken prisoner. "You'll be held accountable for knowing everything the officers will, as well as the tests I have them take," he told her loudly, his voice proving his distaste for her – which he only did because the others were hanging on his every word. "And I expect that report first thing Monday morning."

She brought her hand up for a salute and watched him turn on his heel and walk away. After staring after him a few moments she raised her hands in surrender and shook her head, wondering what Colonel Sink saw in that man.

"So what exactly are you doing here?" Toye asked, his gravelly voice catching her attention. It was the question they all wanted to know, right after who the hell was she.

She turned to the small group of men who'd stood behind her and Sobel listening to her speak; seeing Liebgott among them – his was the only name she knew after yesterday. "You'll find out in the briefing on Monday," she told them before turning and finding Winters behind her. "Lieutenant Winters," she said raising a hand in salute.

He smiled slightly before doing the same. "I see you're learning." Nixon hadn't talked about anything other than her yesterday, and even when he did he always came back to her; she was proving to be quite the distraction, already half the second platoon was watching her instead of preparing to run up Currahee.

"I'm getting there," she said as she walked around him, hearing the moment she'd passed him his voice call out for the others to do what they should've already been doing – and she looked over her shoulder to find Winters casting her his own look, she had a feeling he didn't quite like her being there either.

…

"You should've heard her, Nix," Winters said as they ate dinner. "She basically told Sobel, this is what I want, and then he gave it to her."

Nixon gave a small laugh. "Did I say she was great, or what," he said earning himself a sharp look from Dick. "Alright, I heard you when you said something didn't add up about her being here and you're right," he told him placatingly. "But technically I'm not supposed to know."

Winters looked up from the cup he was drinking out of. "So how do you know?" he asked, not thinking she would've just told him.

"I observed," he answered. "I took note of what particular skills she has, and Christ Almighty Dick you should see that girl fight, she's an animal. Anyway, I made a guess that she was OSS and she told me I'd have to wait til Monday so I put on the Nixon charm,"

"And she said you wouldn't leave her alone until she told you," Dick finished seeing in Nixon's smile he was right.

He laughed as he watched Dick's mouth straighten from the smile it'd been curled into. "See, you like her," he said not giving him the chance to disagree before he spoke again. "But the whole point of the story was I was right."

It took Winters a moment before he understood what Nixon had said. "You're not serious," he said thinking it was impossible – of course he knew there were spies, they were essential in winning a war, but to have one in Easy Company was simply not possible.

But Nixon only shrugged before taking a drink. "I guess we'll find out on Monday. I'm assuming you're not taking your weekend pass."

Winters gave him a rye look. "What do you think, Nix?" he asked, both knowing the answer to that particular question.

With most of the men gone Winters had almost forgotten the strange woman that would join their Company come Monday, at least until he walked into the mess hall Sunday and found her sitting at a table with several papers spread out in front of her. "Private Woodridge," he greeted. "There's no need," he said before she could stand to salute. He sat across from her and looked at the papers strewn around her to see different symbols drawn on them. "What are these?"

"German insignias," she answered unhappily. "I have to know what they mean and who to salute based on what they're wearing, as well as their exact rank."

He nodded then understanding. "This is why you over think who to salute," he said watching her nod.

She held up a piece of paper with the insignia facing her, and he saw on the back of it was an English rank. "Heerführer?" she asked in a thick German accent, a language she'd known for years.

He looked at the English word not sure. "Possibly," he offered.

She looked on the back of the page to see the word was Lieutenant, not General. "Fat load of help you are," she said making him smile. She set the paper down with a sigh before resting her chin on a hand and looking at him. "How was your weekend?"

Dick looked at her young face and wondered again why she was here, he'd thought she was at least twenty from the way she carried herself, but staring at her now he wondered if she was even eighteen. "It was quiet," he answered.

"I envy you that," she told him. Her weekend had been filled with the director giving her a list of what she'd need to know by the beginning of the new year – granted there were several things she'd been continuously training for such as decoding messages and tactics, but she knew she wouldn't get a single day's break.

"Lieutenant Winters."

Winters looked up at the man who set his tray down beside Woodridge and returned his salute. "Sergeant Speirs," he said in greeting, seeing the rumors the two were thick as thieves was true – he was never too far behind her if he wasn't already at her side. "I was trying to help Woodridge but I'm afraid my German isn't up to par."

"Neither is mine," Speirs told him before looking at the several papers lying around. "You sure you can have that memorized by Friday?" he asked knowing she was still going through the American ones as well – those he at least could help her with.

She shrugged. "I guess we'll see," she answered staring at the papers hatefully.

Speirs smirked before gathering them in a pile and putting them back in the folder she had on her lap. "I took this from your bag, figured I could help with these," he said laying the folder of American insignias in front of her. "She can work her way into the right answer for just about all of them, now it's about putting them all together to figure out the rank," he explained to Dick before pulling out a paperclipped stack of papers with several drawings on each page both men already knew the answer to.

Dick smiled and took the top paper. "What's this one?" he asked watching her stare at it for a minute before her mouth curled into a smile – Nixon was right, she had a great smile.

"That's you," she answered recognizing the bar he wore on his color to go along with the patches.

Ron turned to her unsatisfied. "And what's his rank?" he asked already knowing her answer.

And Dick realized it too when she paused and looked at him. "A lieutenant," was her slow answer, knowing something went in front of it. Both men sat biting back a smile as she stared hard at Dick's uniform knowing the answer would come eventually. "First," she mumbled entirely unsure of herself.

"We'll keep that in the don't know pile," he told her seeing the small smile behind the hand she held against her mouth.

The three sat in the mess hall for some time before Dick excused himself leaving Speirs to continue going over them with Christine until her mind was numb and she could go through them all and miss only five. "I guess it's progress," she said as they walked back to her barracks, and she was glad to find it empty. "I don't suppose Sobel would let me go to you to wrap my breasts every morning."

"It doesn't seem likely," he said, a fire raging in his blood at the thought of anyone else coming that close to her – he didn't trust the men with her, whether or not she could snap them all like a twig; he couldn't get past the thirteen year old kid he'd met a few years ago, he still considered her his responsibility.

She gave a half hearted shrug as she set the folders on the cot she'd been assigned. "I'll probably end up asking Winters to do it," she said knowing from the things Nixon told her that Winters would hate the idea let alone having to be faced with her; and the thought of it made her almost smile as she sat on the bed and looked up at Ron. "You can always visit, scare the men into remembering why they shouldn't come near me," she said knowing he didn't want to leave her alone with a group of men; something that touched her because she wasn't at all worried about it.

"I know you're not entirely serious but I will take you up on that," he told her, running a hand over her hair gently before leaving the barrack.

She sat for a moment on the bed considering just calling it a night before she grabbed the German folder and went back to looking them over. Half an hour later she started hearing the men return to camp, swarming around the barracks like bees with their incessant buzzing. "What is the goddamn mess, Private Woodridge?"

She looked up at the sound of Sobel's voice to find a smiling man standing in front of her. "That was good," she told him, for a second she'd thought it was Sobel.

His smile widened as he stepped closer. "Thank you, George Luz," he said holding out a hand.

"Christian Woodridge," she answered shaking his hand.

He stared at her a moment, taking in her loose dark hair spilling down her back and her pretty face – looking more a woman in that moment than the entire week she'd been there. "That's not your real name, is it?" he asked seeing the corner of her mouth curl.

She shook her head. "Christian Woodridge is a real person, but I don't have the fortune of actually knowing him," she told him looking to the men entering the barrack.

George turned to the guys behind him. "She goes by Christian Woodridge, but that's not her real name."

"Do we have to wait til tomorrow for your real name?" Malarkey asked sitting on his bed with Muck beside him.

"Hey," Muck said standing, "you don't know our names. "I'm Muck, that's Malarkey, Eugene, Johnny, Perconte, Talbert,"

"You can call me Floyd," he said with an easy smile as he shook her hand.

She looked back to Muck as the guys around Talbert elbowed him for flirting. "George Luz," she said pointing to the man still standing to her right making him smile at her remembering his name, "and Liebgott."

"You know Liebgott?" Talbert asked looking to Joe, having thought he'd have her in the bag.

"Course she knows Liebgott," a thick philly accent drawled as he stepped into the barrack, "he insulted her. Bill Guarnere," he said holding out a hand to her.

She shook his hand still sitting on the floor. "We call him Gonorrhea," Malarkey told her. She looked up at the man she was still shaking hands with. "I'm gonna call you Bill," she informed him, making him smile, before releasing his hand and looking to the man behind him

He stepped forward and offered her his hand. "Joe Toye."

"So," Muck said now laying on his bed with a hand under his chin looking at her, "you know our names."

All the men in the barrack looked at her waiting for her to speak and she sighed before sitting back knowing she wouldn't be studying her papers anymore that night. "Christine Roi," she answered knowing they wouldn't be satisfied until she did. She sat quietly as she listened to several voices saying how pretty a name it was and that it suited her, waiting until they quieted: "you can call me Chris."

"That's not really a girl's name," Malarkey told her.

"She's not really a girl," Liebgott said kneeling beside her to see the pictures she was looking at. "What with her dick and all," he added.

She turned to him sharply to see his smug face as he looked at her. "My balls are bigger than yours too," she told him watching his grin spread into a smile as the others laughed.

"The mouth on her," George said laughing with Muck.

Liebgott turned back to the pages laid out on the floor. "These German?" he asked, turning to her to see her staring at him startled.

She picked up one of the papers and held it up so he could see the word on the back. "Oberst?"

"Yeah," he told her.

She turned the page over to see it was in fact Colonel. "Finally, someone that speaks German," she said before putting that insignia with the ones she already knew.

The corner of his mouth curled as he stared at her face. "You know, I can help if you need it," he offered with a sly smile, and Talbert rolled his eyes before stepping around the papers and sitting on his bed.

Christine turned to Liebgott unfazed by the little amount of charm he had. "You've insinuated that I wasn't a woman twice now," she told him. "I'd say you'll help without my asking."

"Oh really?" he asked, his brows drawing together as he continued staring at her.

'Mmhm' she hummed nodding before leaning closer and lowering her voice. "Because up close and with my hair down I look a lot more like a woman," she said watching his eyes and catching when they flicked to her mouth.

He watched her mouth curl into a smirk before she gathered the papers and returned them to the folder. "I thought I was helping."

"You can help tomorrow," she said using his shoulder as leverage to stand. "It's about time for lights out which means I'm going to shower."

George turned to her with a smile. "In a camp full of men, I'm afraid I cannot allow a woman as beautiful as yourself to travel alone."

"Or if you don't want Luz, I could join you," Floyd offered with a charming grin.

"Or," Muck chimed in, "we could take turns standing watch while you shower," he said nodding when the others voiced their agreements.

She rolled her eyes half amused. "Or I could ask Lieutenant Winters," she retorted before putting the folder on the shelf above where she hung her shirt and jacket and grabbing a towel.

"Me and Toye gotta go to our barracks, we'll walk with you til you find Winters," Bill offered.

"Thank you," she told him honestly surprised by the offer, but he only shrugged smiling.

"Gonorrhea," Malarkey reminded her.

She turned to the red haired man and shook her head. "I'm not a lady about many things Malarkey, but that word is never coming out of my mouth," she said leaving the barrack to a chorus of laughter.

Toye followed after her and Bill turned to Luz. "Put me in for the bet, she already likes me more than Tal."

"Ah shut up," Floyd told him. "I haven't started yet." He threw the first thing he could find but Bill was through the door and catching up to Toye and Chris.

"What bet?" Malarkey asked.

George motioned to the door. "Who'll get her," he said as though it were obvious. "I for one, bet myself considering I won the first one."

Perconte scoffed. "All you did was see her first."

"Yeah but I made her laugh," he said remembering her smile, it softened her face. "And she seems to be immune to your charm Talbert."

He waved a hand not concerned. "I haven't given her all I got, I bet you anything she'll be mine by the end of the week," he said confidently.

"Well my bet's on Liebgott," Muck said lying back on his cot.

Malarkey turned to him surprised. "You're not betting on yourself?" he asked.

But Muck shook his head. "She's not like the girls you find back home," he said knowing he couldn't handle her – as pretty as she was.

"No she's not," Johnny said, having staid quiet as he'd watched her. "You heard the way she talked to Sobel, that's a woman that knows what she wants. I'm betting Joe."

He smiled as he stood, still feeling her hand on his shoulder as she pushed herself up. "Well when she does fall for me," he said sitting on his cot, "I won't be tied to the bet. But I'll take half when it happens."

"I'll be sure to tell her you said that," George said as they all laid back in their beds waiting for the lights to go out. "Who do you think she is, I mean she's gotta be someone to be in the paratroopers?"

In all honestly they had no idea, it didn't make sense for a woman to be allowed in – a woman, in a company of men; the idea itself seemed impossible. "Well she did tell Sobel her mission would be to infiltrate German camps, that sounds like some deep shit," Malarkey said.

"Maybe she's a spy," Muck said wondering if that was even possible.

But George snorted. "She's not a spy," he told them. "Right?" he asked not entirely sure, it almost made sense. "Hey Lip," George said when Lipton walked in, "do you think Woodridge is a spy?"

He looked at Luz startled by the question. "I don't know George," he answered honestly, "but we'll find out tomorrow," he said. It was as close to an answer as any of them had, they'd just have to wait.


	3. you know my heart it breaks

All of Easy Company sat on benches in the area they were given lectures staring at Private Woodridge as she stood next to Colonel Sink, her spine held straight and her hands behind her back – she was the epitome of at attention.

"This is Private Woodridge, and as most of you probably know she is a woman," Sink told them motioning to the woman at his side. "What I'm about to tell you is classified information, no one outside of Easy is to have this knowledge under threat of being shot." He paused a moment to let the severity of what he was about to say register in the young men's minds. "She's an OSS operative."

Muck turned to George sitting behind him. "I told you she was a spy," he mouthed at the sight of George's shocked face. Even Liebgott stared at her surprised, his brows raised and the corner of his mouth curled – somehow it made her even more beautiful.

"Her mission is to gain access to enough German Intelligence that we will have their exact locations and plans of attack: we'll have every means necessary to take out the Germans." Sink paused as many men gave a loud whoop at the sound of killing Krauts. "Her survival is of the utmost importance: her skills include Intelligence, cryptanalysis, tactics, weapons specialist, marksman," he counted off, knowing the last would leave a bad taste in many of their mouths. "She's also a highly trained assassin."

Chris stood hearing the utter silence of the men as they all looked to her – she could feel their eyes like lasers burning her skin. Yet she stood at attention staring in front of her, not giving the slightest shifting of her weight to one leg – she was completely still under the weight of their stares wishing the Colonel had briefed them without her presence. Even Sobel, who stood to her right, had turned his head toward her sharply at the word assassin – it was always the bitter pill people had trouble swallowing, to that day only Ron Spiers had been able to take it, and she wondered for a brief lonely moment if he'd be the only one that could.

Colonel Sink let that settle for a moment before he began again, hearing the murmuring of the men as they turned to each other. "She's an invaluable asset to the war as well as the 506th Regiment, many of her operations will give her direct knowledge to the Germans around us. I don't believe I need to tell you the consequence of trying anything with this young woman," he said, his voice growing stern. "She may not be allowed to kill you, but I will overlook as many broken bones she sees fit to give you," he warned seeing in their faces they understood they were not to even think of laying a hand on her; he didn't know how long that would last, a few days or months, before they found themselves lonely in need of a woman and turned to her. "This is not a matter to take lightly; if anyone outside of this Company discovers the identity of Private Woodridge you and the other party be it another paratrooper or civilian will be shot. Are there any questions?" he asked looking around at the men to see most of them staring at the woman beside him, but no one stood and no voices called out. "Carry on."

Those standing raised a hand to salute and those sitting were on their feet with a hand raised as Colonel Sink left them to return to his duties. She turned to Sobel at her right to find him staring at her warily, as though he thought she might turn and attack him – it left her rolling her eyes as she looked away.

"Easy Company," he called loudly turning from her clenched jaw to his men, "change into your PT gear, we're running Currahee." He turned to Woodridge and looked at her through dark furrowed brows. "Is it true you can run it in 33 minutes?" he asked her, his voice lowered.

"Yes sir," she answered quietly not entirely understanding what exactly he was asking.

He nodded before looking at the men as Winters gave them the order to fall out. "Good," he told her before walking away.

She was left staring after him wondering what he was planning and having a pretty good idea no one would like it. "Hey." She turned to find Liebgott walking toward her, the other men's eyes following after him as they left to go to their barracks. "What'd he say?" he asked wondering what'd creased her brow.

"He asked how fast I could do Currahee," she answered as they walked together back to their barrack.

He turned to her wondering if she could do it under 50 minutes. "So how fast?"

A rue smirk curled the corner of her mouth as she kept walking, nodding to the men she'd met in Dog Company when she saw them – smiling when she saw Speirs. Liebgott saw her smile, it softened her face made her look younger; she almost looked sweet. "I'm guessing you're gonna find out," she answered when she'd passed Dog Company, not taking note of Liebgott watching her wondering who Speirs was to her. "And I don't think you're gonna like it," she said looking to him to find his eyes on her hips.

He looked up to see she'd caught where his eyes had fallen and he grinned finding he didn't really care; he could see in her eyes she didn't really care either. "It's Joe," he told her making her brows knit in wondering, "Liebgott." He hadn't been impressed with her at first glance, from a distance she could pass as a man; but then she'd opened her mouth, her voice had been sweet but she could spit with the best of them. And last night with her hair down, sitting close enough he'd seen every light freckle dusting her face, her thin nose and her daring eyes – she was beautiful.

She nearly smiled at seeing he was still flirting – her being a spy not serving as any sort of a deterrent. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into Joe," she said as she climbed the few stairs to the barrack.

His eyes followed every sway of her hips. "I can't wait to find out."

She waited until his eyes left her waist before she spoke again. "See if you can keep up." It was silent the moment she walked into the barrack, the men staring at her curious and wary having been talking about her only seconds before; it's how Liebgott should've behaved, tiptoeing around her until he realized she wouldn't suddenly kill them all – it's why she'd been surprised when he'd walked up to her, he didn't seem to care.

With a sigh she walked to her cot and hung up her jacket before pulling off her pants, leaving her in her PT gear as all the others. "You've got about thirty seconds to ask me what you want before we have to go," she said turning to look at them.

Muck and Malarkey looked at each other before stepping forward. "Are you really a spy?" "Have you ever killed anyone?"

"How old were you when you first killed someone?" George asked from behind her.

"How many languages do you speak?" Johnny asked from beside him.

"Jesus, would you let her answer," Talbert said moving to stand beside her. "But really, are you a spy?"

She looked at the men gathered around her and the others standing back changing into their PT gear waiting for her to speak. "Yes, I'm a spy. Part of my training was learning how to effectively kill a man. I was fifteen. And I speak five."

They were quiet a few moments as they processed what she'd said, as they understood everything they were thinking was probably true. And they were just about to hit her with another slew of questions when Lipton called. "Alright let's go, PT formation lets move."

She walked through Muck and Malarkey and made for the door, seeing Liebgott smirking when she gave him a look as she left; feeling their eyes following her until the door swung shut. "Damn Joe, if you really wanted to know if she was a woman all you had to do was look at her ass," Talbert said smiling. "I mean it's not big but she's got some hips."

"God bless these damn shorts," Muck said as he followed her out of the barrack, catching sight of her long thin legs before he jogged to catch up. "Hey Chris," he called making her turn and wait for him to catch up. "If you really are a spy," he started as they walked to where the others were lining up in formation, "are you good at hand to hand combat?"

She looked at him curiously before shrugging. "I like to think I'm good at it," she answered, not saying one way or another whether she was – she knew she was good, he didn't and besides Nixon who'd seen her fighting with Ron none of the others did either.

He nodded wondering how good she was, having his own idea of what being a spy entailed. "So if I came up behind you like this," he said wrapping an arm around her shoulders forcing her to stop as he held her still, "would you be able to get out of it?"

She turned to look at him behind her wondering what exactly he was doing. "Yes, I can easily get out of this, the real question is whether you want me to," she warned knowing he'd be incredibly unhappy to run up Currahee after she knocked the breath out of him.

"That's pretty big talk," Malarkey said as the others caught up to where the two now stood. "I don't think you can do it," he said not thinking she could when her body was so thin and small compared to Muck's.

Winters stood staring at Woodridge and Muck, his arm locking her shoulders against his chest making her look small in that moment. "I don't see this going well," he said to Nixon.

He laughed already knowing how it'd end. "Not for him, she'll be fine."

"What is he doing with his goddamn arm around her neck?" Sobel said catching sight of the two of them and marching forward.

"Captain Sobel," her feminine voice called quieting all of Easy Company as they looked to where she stood, "permission to give an example of what I'd do in this situation?"

He stopped at the sound of her voice honestly wondering what she'd do, because other than an almost irritated tone to her voice she didn't seem the least bit affected by the man holding her against him. "Permission granted, but you both will still be running Currahee," he told them, as curious as every other man to see what she'd do.

She turned to Muck again to see the dare in his eye. "You'll have a broken nose and the wind knocked out of you, last chance," she warned seeing doubt creep into his eyes at the calm way in which she spoke.

He wasn't quite sure anymore, there was a fire in her blue eyes that had him second guessing if maybe she could get out of his hold easier than he thought. "You scared of a woman, Muck?" Luz asked laughing.

"That girl's not gonna do much harm," Bull said shaking his head.

Muck looked back to Chris to see her waiting patiently for his answer: he couldn't very well say no, not with all of the guys expecting him to say yes – they'd never let him live it down, saying he'd been afraid of her. "Why not?" he asked, not believing she'd do as much harm as she thought she could.

Four seconds, that's all it took. Three of which she took to slam her elbow into his nose and wrap an arm around the back of his neck so she could thrust her legs into the air to use the momentum of her body to pull him over and beneath her so that her weight hit him hard in the chest when his back hit the ground. The last second she used still moving on her momentum to roll herself so that she was back on her feet standing in the same spot she stood before she'd even moved – only now Muck lay staring wide eyed at the sky not entirely sure what had happened.

"Shit," Malarkey said when Muck let out a cough, blood beginning to pool out of his nose.

She turned to Muck seeing he was dazed. "I tried to warn you," she told him softly holding out a hand for him. After a moment of staring at her he finally took her hand and she pulled him to his feet, seeing his nose was broken as she thought it would be.

"Show's over," Sobel yelled when the men continued staring at her. "Get into PT formation."

She stepped away from Muck, who held a hand to his nose realizing it hurt now that he'd caught his breath, and walked to where the others had gathered in formation. Winters caught her eye and nearly smiled at the wry look on her face when she passed him, a look Nixon caught and he turned to the man amused. "I told you she was great," Nix said watching the slight upturn of the corner of Dick's mouth straighten in a thin line. "Only one day and you're already sold."

Winters shook his head before falling in line with his platoon, taking off at a jog when Sobel gave the order. He looked over his shoulder often as they ran to see how she was fairing, the men around her growing tired as sweat began to pour down their brow, yet she barely looked winded.

"Private Woodridge," Sobel called from the front of the line.

"Yes sir," she answered knowing he'd now use her faster time against the men.

And she was right, he'd thought of a way she might actually benefit the men other than to serve as a distraction. "We've got two miles to go, how fast do you think you can reach the top at your own pace?"

She considered lying and saying more time than it really would, knowing if they were pushed too hard the men might turn on her – but Sobel already knew the answer, or at least enough that he'd know she was lying and she quite frankly had enough on her plate without an added punishment. "No more than fourteen minutes, sir," she answered finally, hearing many scoffs of disbelief around her.

He smiled as he slowed his pace, turning to look for where she was to see her breathing was barely deeper than when they'd started. "Take this," he said handing her the stopwatch, "tell me to the second how long it takes you. Wait for us there."

She looked at him a moment before stepping out of line and running around the officers who ran beside their platoon – within a minute she'd already outpaced the front line of men.

"You should be ashamed to call yourselves men," she heard Sobel yell from behind her. "That woman is going to reach the top with ten minutes to spare: are you willing to say a woman is better fit than you?"

"No sir," they yelled.

"That a woman is faster than you?" he asked them.

"No sir," they yelled even louder.

"Are you willing to say a woman is better than you?" he roared.

"No sir," they cried, a fire in their hearts at the sight of their woman disappearing around a bend – they would not willingly say a woman was better than them.

Sobel smiled as he led them, hearing their renewed fervor. "Hi ho silver!"

…

"She cut off five minutes from our time," Winters told Nixon when they sat in the mess hall for lunch. "I think she'll be good for Easy, she's better fit and that'll push the men harder."

Nixon smiled shaking his head. "What'd I miss Sunday, cause you sir are taken with her?"

Dick gave him a look before taking a bite of his food. "I tried helping her with the insignias she has to know. Did you know she has to learn all of ours and the German ones, and she already has all of ours down. And she doesn't hesitate who to salute either."

Nixon smiled as he took a drink. "Must've been one hell of a time Sunday, that or you don't actually mind standing outside while she showers," he said grabbing his fork. "Oh and of course wrapping her breasts this morning, you know any man here would've been happy to do it," he told him, remembering Dick's unhappy face when she'd come with a favor to ask.

Dick shook his head as he took another bite, feeling his face flush as it had when she'd asked him - and then all the while he'd knelt in front of her bare chest. "She had a valid point, there wasn't anyone else who'd try anything besides Speirs."

"What is that with them?" Nixon asked, having seen him walking her back to her barrack or to another building several times - and more often than not he was almost smiling as they spoke. "I mean are they together?"

Dick looked at him seeing she'd been right in Nixon's flirting. "He met her when she was thirteen, she lived with him for a time before she continued her training," he said, repeating what she'd told him the night before when he'd taken her to shower after he asked.

Nixon nodded pleased. "So he sees her as a kid," he said.

"She is a kid," Dick told him, opening his mouth to tell him how old she actually was when Nixon smiled and motioned someone toward them.

"We were just talking about you," he said, seeing Chris with a tray, "have a seat. That was an impressive run today."

She nodded to Winters when he slid over for her to sit beside him and looked to Nixon curiously. "Thanks," she told him not exactly sure his intentions.

Dick gave Nixon a stern look as he continued smiling at her. "So how fast did you finish the last two miles?"

Chris looked between the two seeing Winters giving Nixon a look and Nixon only shrugging innocently before he turned back to her. "Ten minutes and forty-six seconds," she answered. She glanced at the table she'd been planning to sit at, seeing Liebgott cast a curious glance her way - she'd been planning on sitting beside him, across from Luz, before she'd noted Nixon waving to her.

"So a little over five minutes per mile?" Winters asked her, his eyes the only pair that didn't stray anywhere over her body looking for signs she was a woman.

She nodded before looking to her watch having forgotten her meeting entirely. "If you two will excuse me, I'm supposed to meet with Colonel Sink," she looked at her watch again, "ten minutes ago."

Nixon watched her stand, his dark eyes following every movement of her body. "You know if you ever get tired of his company, I'd be happy to stand watch outside your shower," he offered with a grin, not needing to look at Dick to know he was frowning.

Chris smiled as she picked up her tray. "I wouldn't put it past you to join me," she said patting his shoulder as she walked past him.

He smiled at her words, part of the reason she was so enjoyable, before turning back to Dick. "Stop flirting with her," Dick told him.

"I can't help that I'm attracted to beautiful women, Dick," Nixon told him only half joking.

But Dick's mouth didn't even twitch as he stared heavily at his friend. "Well that beautiful woman," he said nearly choking on the word beautiful, "turned seventeen last month."

Nixon almost spit the water he'd been drinking back into the cup when he realized what Dick had said, and he turned to look at Chris standing beside where Muck sat. "I feel like a dirty uncle," he groaned, turning back to Dick to see him now smiling.

Chris shoveled a forkful of food into her mouth before setting her tray in front of Muck. "Oh you deadly angel," he told her as he scooped what was on her tray onto his. "Hey," he said shoving Malarkey's hand away, "she didn't break your nose."

"That's a good look for a dame," Bill said when he saw her full mouth, looking like many of the guys around him as they shoveled food into their mouths.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned to him, holding a hand up to her mouth before she spoke. "We all know I'm here for my womanly appearance," she said making them chuckle. She looked to Liebgott, him being the one to call her out on her lack of breasts, to see him smiling, and she shook her head before leaving the mess hall. "Captain Sobel," she said when she saw him walking with an apple in hand.

"Private Woodridge," he said stopping as she walked to him and nodding when she saluted. "What do you need?"

She looked at her watch seeing she'd wasted about another five minutes. "I have a meeting with Colonel Sink and I don't know how long it'll run," she told him watching his eyes narrow. "I was wondering if you have a plan for what the men will do for the rest of the afternoon," she said before he could find any fault.

He nodded realizing she was asking where she should find them when she was done, instead of telling him she probably wouldn't make it for anymore training. He looked around them to see none of the men were near. "Are you still studying German ranks?"

"Yes sir," she answered, pausing as she thought of how to phrase what she'd say next. "I have the patches down, I don't quite have the ranks yet and I don't know all of the patches for the specific army units but I'm getting very close."

He looked at her closely hearing in the tone of her voice she didn't like admitting she didn't know what she needed to; she was a different kind of woman, possibly a different kind of person all together. "Spend the rest of the day going over them," he said turning away from her when her brows rose in surprise. "I expect a good report Monday morning."

"Yes sir," she said nodding, surprised at how easily he agreed with her. "Thank you, sir."

He looked at her young face, hardly believing Colonel Sink when he'd told him how young she was – she didn't carry herself as though she were, she certainly looked it, but the steel in her spine and the strength in her eyes made it hard to remember she wasn't old enough to be a soldier yet. "Don't let it go to your head," he told her sternly before turning on his heel and marching away, leaving her staring after him with knitted brows.

She stayed with Colonel Sink an hour, discussing her being a medic to keep her from the front line of fighting to assure her survival while still aiding her Company – he didn't ask her opinion though, he already knew her answer when it came to her life above others; she never picked her own life, it's something Ron had taught her.

It was well into the afternoon when the men she shared a barrack with returned from physical training, tired and sweating and wanting to rest but having to change back into uniform for a lecture – and they found her sitting once more on the floor with several pages surrounding her.

"Well don't this look relaxing," Perconte said when he saw her, quite envious she was sitting there staring at papers. "Can you imagine if we gotta spend our afternoons like this?" he asked the others who stared just as jealously at the woman.

Joe knelt beside her looking at the different rows of drawings, realizing they weren't all the same unit. "These German paratroopers?" he asked seeing a sketch of wings.

She looked up from the page she held in her hand and saw the one he was looking at. "Yeah, these are other army units. Those are marines but I probably won't run into many of them," she said before looking back to the paper in her hand.

"Damn, you gotta know all that?" Malarkey asked not seeing anything relaxing about it; she didn't even look relaxed, her hair was falling out of its bun and into her face – she looked stressed, and irritable, and he certainly didn't want to join her.

"You planning on leaving us for the krauts?' George asked from beside her.

Without looking up from the page she answered: "at some point." She didn't look up until she realized they'd all stilled as they waited for her to explain what she meant, seeing suspicion on a few of their faces. "I have to infiltrate German camps, you don't think I'm gonna wear our uniform do you?" she asked rhetorically, seeing George release a breath as he smiled and she rolled her eyes before turning back to the specific unit in front of her. "I need to know all this like the back of my hand if I don't want to be taken prisoner, so I guess you could say this is relaxing," she said casting Perconte a sardonic look.

With her eyes now back on her papers the men began changing into uniform and heading for the door. "See ya, Chris," many of them said as they left, turning to her see her lift a hand briefly in a goodbye. She looked up when a pair of boots stopped in front of her, blatantly standing on one of the pages, and saw Joe smirking as he knelt down. "I can help later if you'd like," he offered, his smirk curling into a smile when her hard eyes met his.

"You owe me, Liebgott," she said making him laugh as he stood. He left her with the promise of coming back, she didn't really count on it though – and so she was surprised when the door opened a few hours later and he sat beside her handing her a tray of food for dinner.

She spent the rest of the week doing much of the same, training with the men – keeping up with them during calisthenics, outshining them in most cases, running Currahee, sitting with them in lectures, and learning more of the men's names as the ones she slept with introduced her to the others – and after dinner she'd sit with Joe going over the ranks continuously until by Friday she knew them all.

He'd been floored by her memory, it only took her getting it wrong once before she learned it, and after a few days she stopped hesitating before answering and most of the time she was right – she wasn't like the girls back home, she didn't try to be anything she wasn't and half the time she didn't care what she looked like or what way her words rubbed off on people. She was smart, smarter than anyone he knew, and strong, on occasion charming, and dark; sometimes he couldn't do anything more than just stare at her as she smiled or laughed, or to stare at the cold gleam in her eye when he asked her about who she'd killed. She was a sadistic angel, and he sometimes didn't know whether he was afraid of her or wanted to kiss her – but hell if that wasn't part of the fun.


	4. every step that I take

By the end of the week Joe wasn't the only one in Easy completely taken with her, most of them were: she was sarcastic and rude with a wicked sense of humor – she was one of the men, and it made it easier for them to accept her. Even Sobel, on rare occasion, found her almost agreeable – before he'd realize what he was doing, then he'd turn on his heel and march away from her or demand push-ups stating whatever infraction he could find.

So on Friday afternoon when she was due to leave instead of staying on base doing the night march in full pack with the rest of the men Sobel, who'd been hoping to decrease their march time with her, looked at her as he would any of the others. "How many pushups can you do, Woodridge?" he asked looking away from her, knowing her eyes were furious.

"Am I being punished for my orders, sir?" she asked him wondering what infraction he'd find this time.

He looked at her daring face seeing she knew he had no reason to punish her, and it only infuriated him more at seeing her open defiance. "Answer the question Private," he ordered.

She clenched her jaw fighting the urge to ask exactly what she was being punished for, remembering General Donovan telling her she needed to learn complete obedience. This was new for her, she'd been trained to think of every possible scenario for a situation and choose the one with the best outcome – as a soldier she wasn't supposed to think, she was supposed act on her orders. And so she took a breath and unhinged her jaw. "I can do sixty, sir," she answered, her voice stony and her face barely masking her irritation.

Yet Sobel never penalized her for it, his eyes would narrow and he'd wait for any sign she might act on her anger but she never did; he knew she was going against all of her training and his specific orders had been to show her patience. As the week passed he found that he listened to what she said, but found her not only reasonable but also actively trying to learn all she could. There were times when he wished more of the men were like her. But then there were times like this, when he stared down at her defiant face; she hesitated in answering, she paused a moment before asking why. It was a small act of insubordination, granted he was being unfair, but he needed to break her of it.

"Go ahead, Private," he told her, waiting for her to refuse on the grounds she was supposed to leave.

She almost did, except all of Easy was watching her waiting for what she'd do, and even though Sobel would let her go if she said she'd be late, Chris felt the need to do as she was expected which was to drop down and give him sixty pushups. And she wondered if Lieutenant Winters wasn't there staring at her expectantly, if she might've said no.

So she dropped to position and began her set of sixty pushups, bending her arms and lowering her body over and over and over again until finally – with her face flushed her heart pounding and her arms growing weak – she finally reached sixty and let out a breath of relief.

"Do another ten," Sobel ordered, wondering how far he could push her.

She stayed in position, her arms straining to hold her, before she lowered herself again, and then again, until she'd done ten.

"Again," he told her, watching her look up at him realizing he wasn't planning on stopping – he wouldn't stop until she did as she was told the moment he told her.

After a moment of considering whether to continue, she did as ordered, feeling her arms quivering every time she lowered herself.

"Again," he repeated, nearly smiling at her brief hesitation before she complied.

Winters looked to Nixon, both men knew how this would end – and though she'd end up winning this little battle it wouldn't be easy for her. Liebgott knew it too, he stood at attention watching her do another set of ten pushups, seeing the shaking in her arms – he didn't know how she was still going, he could barely do more than forty she was already thirty past the sixty she said she could do.

Sobel knelt in front of her, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her. "Again," he said, seeing the sweat falling down her face – and again she looked at him, hesitating for a second before she lowered herself on trembling arms and struggled through another set.

Several more times they played this cruel game, Sobel ordering more and Chris always pausing a moment before complying – she'd realized what he was doing. Obedience, that's what he was after; she wouldn't give it to him. She'd never been confident in his ability to lead Easy, it was in his mannerisms, in the offense he took over the smallest of matters, the personal vendetta he seemed to hold toward Winters – a man she'd follow over a cliff blindly.

Her pace slowed, it took her over a minute to lower and raise herself on her arms ten times; sweat dripped from her face and pooled on the back of her neck, her arms begging to collapse beneath her. Yet she still went, and when he demanded another she looked at him boldly, seeing the moment he realized she knew what he was doing and was refusing to give it to him.

He looked around at Easy, all of whom had turned their heads to watch her. She had a power over them – she was the embodiment of lethal, her blue eyes glimmered like a snake's at her anger; and yet she disarmed them with the curling of her mouth, turning her face into something lovely and sweet. She had the ability to make them simultaneously feel as though they were being toyed with, judged, charmed, and tested - and they strived to meet her expectations, hoping for that little smile.

"Again."

"Captain Sobel," Winters said not knowing how long this would continue, only that neither of them were planning to stop.

Sobel turned to his first lieutenant sharply. "Did I give you permission to speak?" he demanded, silencing any defense Winters might've given for her. He looked back to Woodridge, pushing her body on exhausted arms, breathing deeply as she fought for air; it simply wasn't possible she had more in her, she was past 130, and yet she looked up at him as determined as when she'd begun. "Again," he said quietly.

She paused a good twenty seconds, trying to catch her breath – but holding herself up on arms that started giving out three sets ago kept her from getting as much as her starved lungs wanted. Her muscles were on fire, burning along with her dripping face, but she forced her arms to withstand the weight of her body.

"Captain Sobel," Nixon tried, earning himself a sharp look from the Captain but he spoke again before he was quieted, "she won't stop until she's told, that's what she's trained for."

Sobel stared hard at Nixon's face knowing he was right, but also that many of these men had developed a fondness for her in that week – it was quite possible if one of them spoke up in her defense they might all turn on him; his first instinct was right, she was a distraction of the worst kind. He looked back to her struggling to get herself back into position seeing her arms would soon give out; and then she sat with her arms held out trying to gather a little more strength to go down again. "Evans, how many has she done?" he asked, having left him in charge of keeping track.

"156, sir," Evans answered having been watching her with deeply furrowed brows as he counted, amazed by her will.

Sobel turned to him briefly in surprise before looking back to the woman who still was trying to find the strength for the last four. "On your feet Private Woodridge," he told her, not knowing how she'd managed almost a hundred more than her first number.

She held herself up feeling a numbness in her muscles, knowing by tomorrow she'd barely be able to move her arms – it'd be easier to do as he said, lord knew she wanted to; but she was stubborn, and prideful. "I have four more, sir," she said breathlessly, trying to take a deep breath before she bent her arms and lowered her body.

He watched her shocked senseless as she completed the last four, nearly hearing her arms screaming each time she lowered and raised herself – seeing the sweat sticking her shirt to her back as she forced herself to continue, an end finally in sight. She stood and stared at him, her chest heaving and sweat pouring from her skin – but the fire in her eyes made it look as though she had another sixty pushups in her. He didn't know if she'd be broken of the slight hesitation she had before she followed his orders, there was no pause when Colonel Sink gave her an order or even Winters. Looking at Sobel then, seeing the wariness in his eye, she realized where his sudden bursts of cruelty and hatred for her spawned – he was afraid of her. "I expect a report on Monday, Private Woodridge," he told her, nodding when she saluted before walking to the barracks to change. He turned from her to see the rest of Easy watching her. "You are at a position of attention.".

Chris Woodridge was nearly all Easy talked about that weekend, not knowing whether they were impressed or if she were stupid – by Sunday they all knew she would've stopped at sixty if she hadn't asked why, stopped at that first set of ten more if she'd just done what she'd been ordered without doubt. There was a strength in her that flared at Sobel's unfairness, but for some reason she didn't say yes sir or keep her head down like the others – she met him head on.

It was late Sunday night, minutes before lights out that the door to their barrack opened. "Hey," George said when he turned and saw Chris. "How are your arms?"

"Not as sore as yesterday," she told them before dropping her bag on the bed and grabbing her towel.

"A hundred and fifty-six pushups, that's pretty impressive," Malarkey told her. "I don't think Sobel knew what to do with you."

Chris could hear Winters in her head saying it wasn't her place to challenge Sobel, as much as she wanted to and as much as Colonel Sink needed to know that Sobel wasn't the man to lead Easy into battle – it simply wasn't her place. "It was stupid," she muttered as she made for the door. "I was arrogant, I should've done as ordered."

Many of them watched her leave confused, knowing from the way she looked at Sobel – from the way she spoke to him – that she didn't respect him as Captain, and so they didn't understand why she was giving in. Lipton and Martin looked after her finding themselves more impressed that she was holding her tongue on her personal feelings.

She reached the bottom of the steps and looked up at Winters, seeing him nod before he began walking toward the showers. "That was the right thing to say," he told her. He'd dreaded what she'd say, having already lectured her about the way she behaved toward their Captain – whether or not he agreed with her – but she'd surprised him.

"It's not my place," she said, finding herself glad he'd been happy with her response.

The corner of his mouth curled at that answer, seeing she was starting to listen. "Say I asked you to give me your opinion on Captain Sobel, what would you say?" he asked, curious of her answer because she was almost unpredictable.

She looked over at him as they walked knowing he wouldn't particularly like her answer. "Well since _you_ asked I'd give my honest opinion, so long as no one was there to overhear."

He turned with a brow raised. "Remind me never to ask your opinion then," he said making her smile. "So how'd the test go?" he asked her, watching her smile turn into a frown.

"I got one wrong," she said unhappily.

His brows rose in surprise. "Were you tested on all of them?" he asked, incredibly impressed by her only missing one – she'd had to know two folders full.

She shrugged. "It was mostly the German ones, because getting those wrong'll prove the most dangerous. But they gave a few on the American ranks I'd come into contact with frequently. That's the one I got wrong," she said looking at him with a hard face. "Let me give you a hint, I put Dick Winters as the answer." A laugh escaped him, a loud chuckle uncommon for the normally stoic man. "I'm glad my failing amuses you," she told him only half serious, seeing the smile on his face.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, hearing the lights shutting off; a few were kept on outside of the barracks giving the only light. "Could you have done more?" he asked, a question he'd had since Friday.

She stood in the doorway as she thought. "I'd say I had maybe forty left in me before my arms gave out," she answered watching the surprise settle on his face. "It's nothing, I'm trained to withstand torture. A training I'll be given again in a few months, then I'll miss doing pushups," she said with a shrug before entering the building, leaving him outside to stand watch while she bathed.

He didn't think he'd ever understand her and the person she'd been turned into – Nixon tried explaining the reasoning behind the severity of her training, but Winters couldn't look past the cold woman she sometimes was. There were moments, a brief flicker normally with Speirs, when she'd smile or she'd give him a look and she'd be any other seventeen year old – but there were times she was ruthless and calculating, sizing up the threat in every person and situation. He couldn't shake himself of the feeling that he should be protecting her, showing her the kind of person she should be – teach her how to be a person again. She was good for Easy, she pushed them harder – but he wondered if Easy might be good for her too.

…

They stayed in Toccoa for a month more til the end of November, Chris Woodridge seamlessly fitting into Easy until there were only rare moments when her being a woman was brought up. For the most part she was tight-lipped when it came to talking about herself, answering briefly or simply telling them no. But with enough prodding, and annoying, she'd tell them almost anything they asked.

"How old were you when they drafted you?" George asked one night before she left to shower.

She looked up from the German tactics Joe was going over with her. "I wasn't really drafted, more like found one day in France," she answered before looking back to her notes.

"You're French?" Perconte asked, having thought she was Italian – she had fire in her blood.

With a sigh she set down her papers knowing she wouldn't be studying anymore. "Yes. My director," many of them smiled at the sound of her accent which occasionally slipped in pronouncing her r's, which they now realized was in fact very French, "found me when I was eight thought I was beautiful, and so began my training."

"The director of the OSS?" Muck asked.  
"He 'found' you, and then what just took you from your home?" Johnny asked appalled at the idea of a child being taken from her parents, and even more that the girl was sitting in front of him.  
"Jesus, you were eight?" Joe asked sitting beside her.

She held up a hand silencing them, hating when they talked over each other. "Colonel Donovan, I call him Mr. Donovan because that's just what he is to me," she told Muck. "My home was an orphanage," she said turning to Johnny, silencing his next question with a look before turning to Joe. "Yes I was eight, he travelled throughout Europe and I went with him – he taught me English and was impressed by how fast I picked it up, he was very strict on my accent and posed me as his granddaughter. When we got to the states is when my real training began, I learned other languages and military tactics, Intelligence, cryptanalysis; breaking codes was a big one and I'm pretty good at it. But the OSS wasn't around then, nothing even remotely like it was instated," she paused as a thought came to her. "Which begs the question of how any of you actually know, never mind," she said waving a hand getting off track. "Anyways, I wasn't learning how to handle weapons when I was eight, that came a later."

"Yeah but you were still too young," Johnny said, still not liking the idea of her as a kid holding a rifle.

She shrugged not seeing the oddness of it, it was the only life she knew. "I suppose an eleven year old marksman could be considered strange," she said wryly.

"Did Colonel Donovan authorize that?" Lipton asked surprising them with his standing by the door. "From what it sounds like he taught you mostly Intelligence."

She nodded knowing what he was asking, and knowing she couldn't completely answer. "I don't think this," she said motioning to herself, "is what he'd planned on me being. But a," she paused as she thought of how to phrase it, knowing with their interests peaked they wouldn't leave her alone, "certain branch saw my potential and took me to increase the severity of my training, I learned different things and," she paused again, "here I am."

"Well that wasn't vague," Muck said feeling as though she didn't quite answer the question.

But she only shrugged. "Unless you wanna get shot vague's all you're getting." She used Joe to hoist herself up to grab a towel, knowing Winters would come looking for her in a few minutes.

"I'll walk you to find Winters," Joe offered standing.

She turned to him with narrowed eyes before stepping to him, her mouth by his ear. "You get one question," she whispered, knowing what he was after. And from the smirk that pulled on his mouth when she looked up at him she knew she'd been right in his wanting to come.

George looked at Liebgott. "What'd she say?" he mouthed wanting to know, but Joe only shook his head as he followed her. He stared after the two with wide eyes before raising his hands in surrender and climbing in his bed.

"Hey Roe," Perconte said looking to their medic, "you know she was French."

Eugene shrugged. "Roi's an old French name, it's what they give orphans who don't have a last name," he said, having known she was French and an orphan the moment she'd said her name.

"And you didn't say nothing?" Perconte asked, but Roe only shrugged again before laying down.

Johnny looked at Frank. "Anything," he corrected, "he didn't say anything."

Joe walked beside Chris, the guy's talking growing fainter the further they went from the barrack. "So you travelled around Europe with him," he said looking to her to see her nod, "and he posed you as his granddaughter."

"Yes," she said, her brows furrowing, not knowing exactly what he was aiming for.

He nodded. "So he introduced you as his granddaughter; you met people then."

"Ah," she breathed understanding. "I met Roosevelt," she told him watching his brows raise in surprise, "and the Prime Minister of Britain and France. I also met Mussolini," she said hearing his soft shit as his eyes widened. "And Hitler," she said softly, leaving him speechless. "I didn't have many freckles then, he thought I was sweet."

He looked at her not knowing what to say. "Holy shit," was all he could manage.

"Wanna hear something ironic?" she asked seeing him nod. "When the lady who ran the orphanage found me on the step I had a blanket with Christine stitched on it, and a little star of David."

"No fucking way," he said turning to her shocked, seeing her thin nose and her vibrant eyes – she didn't even look half Jewish.

She raised a shoulder, not really knowing why she'd told him any of that – she did that a lot with him. "Not religiously but yeah, I'm guessing one of my parents was."

He looked at her shaking his head. "Shit," he muttered, wondering if there was any hope he wouldn't fall for her. "Lieutenant Winters," he said when he saw him coming out of his barrack, him and Chris raising their hands in salute.

Dick nodded at him before looking to Woodridge. "I can take her from here, Joe," he said before watching the young man leave. "You're letting him get too close," he warned her, knowing her admitting she was Jewish had ensured Liebgott wouldn't stop trying.

"I'm allowed to have friends," she told him, though not even she fully believed that was all it was. "And I'm not saying his intentions aren't romantic," she said at seeing his hard face, "because they are. But I'm a woman in a battalion of men and it's only been two weeks, give it a few months it'll blow over," she said turning away from his disbelieving face. "Besides," she said holding back a smile, "if you're concerned about _my_ romantic intentions then you should give yourself a lecture on letting me too close." She gave a small laugh when he choked as he understood what she'd said, and her laughter only continued when his face turning red as he looked away from her.

…

The days went on mostly the same, they ran Currahee, had lectures, continued basic training, learned the basics of handling any job in the platoon. It wasn't long into the week that they realized she knew about the bet George had made.

"Floyd," she'd said one night while they were eating, silencing his sweet words. "You're a swell guy, real charming and very handsome," she said making him grin. "And I'm sure you're gonna find a nice girl, but I'm not a nice girl and you can't handle me." The men at the table around her laughed knowing it was true.

"So what are you saying?" he asked her, feeling her rejection like a blow to his stomach – she was a great dame, granted she wasn't easy or interested, and she didn't act like any kind of woman they knew, but she was exciting and new.

She gave him a small smile knowing she'd bruised his ego. "You're not winning the bet," she answered.

"Shit, how'd you know about the bet?" Muck asked from her left.

She turned to him smirking. "I have my own spy among you," she said scandalously. "And I know that everyone with a stake in it but Floyd and Bill have their money on Liebgott," she said turning to Joe on her right. "I also know you're not technically apart of it."

"Yeah my money's on Liebgott too," Bill said sitting behind her. "I'm not sure about the assassin part."

Muck's eyes widened as he looked to Chris, his nose still faintly bruised. "Jesus Gonorrhea, tell her how you feel why don't you."

Bill turned to him with a mouthful of a food. "Eh, it's why she likes me." He turned to Chris to see her nod and he laughed nudging her before turning back to his food.

Floyd, still sore over her uninterest, watched her. "You said I couldn't handle you, is there anyone who could?" he asked knowing she was probably right.

"Well," she said as she thought, "I guess there's really only two; Speirs and," she jerked a thumb to her right, "Liebgott."

A few of them laughed having already guessed that, a few elbowed him at his clear victory in the bet. George, who'd sat smiling the whole time, and whose money was also on Joe, looked at her. "Since you've said Speirs isn't an option, who'd you fall for?" he asked her, the only thing he didn't know.

She took her eyes from Joe's face to look at George, seeing a spark in his eye she was surprised no one else noticed. "That's easy," she said taking the cigarette from behind Joe's ear and holding it out for Muck to light before she stood with her tray, "Lieutenant Winters," she answered, bumping Joe with her hip before she left. She heard a chorus of laughter behind her, including Nixon's, who'd been sitting with Winters listening to their conversation – but a look over her shoulder at the red-haired man she saw his warm cheeks and unamused face, and she couldn't help but smile.

…

That Sunday when those who hadn't had their weekend passes revoked returned to their barracks, and the ones who shared one with Chris walked in to find George, Muck, Johnny, and Lipton sitting together on the floor with Chris half laying over Lipton's lap as they played a card game.

"Sorry Chris, Lip's already married," Perconte joked as he walked around them.

She barely looked up from where she lay nearly glaring at the five cards in her hands. "Married doesn't matter," she told him, not noticing when they all turned to look at her. "He's invested, so's Johnny," she said pointing to him sitting on her other side. "I love 'em invested, they don't flirt. Now everyone shut up. Are you sure this is a good card?" she asked Lipton for the third time.

He looked at Johnny, the corner of his mouth curled slightly. "Yes Chris," he answered, for the third time.

It didn't satisfy her as she stared at the cards in her hand, not entirely knowing what to do – and she hated not knowing what to do. "Is seven a good card?" she asked in German, looking at Joe.

Joe smiled at being the first person she thought of asking and motioned for her to sit beside him. "What are you playing?"

She paused at his question before standing, feeling Lipton's hands on her waist pushing her up – she'd been like that for an hour, she'd needed the help. "I have no idea," she said sitting on the bed showing him her cards.

"Did you know she's never seen cards before?" George asked still amazed by that.

Joe looked at her curiously to see her rolling her eyes. "I've seen cards I just never played them," she said before turning to Joe. "They made me play Go Fish and War," she muttered unhappily. "And 21. Card games are stupid, and pointless."

He smiled looking at her cards: she had three eights a seven and a two. "You playing Poker?" he asked seeing that she honestly had no idea. "Did he tell you to keep the seven and get rid of the two?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the cards. "No, he said get rid of one of the eights, the seven was better," she told him. "I knew you were lying," she said looking to see Lip and Johnny laughing.

They all looked up at a knock against the doorframe to see Winters standing there. "There's no need," he told them before they could stand and salute. "You ready?" he asked looking to Chris, seeing her with a hand of cards on Joe's bed.

"Hey Lieutenant Winters, you know she's never seen cards before?" George asked him, nodding when his brows rose.

Chris sighed handing Joe her cards. "Kick their asses for me," she told him before grabbing her towel. "And I've never _played_ cards," she told George again.

He shook his head looking up at Winters. "She didn't even know the different suits," he told him.

Winters smiled at the annoyance on her face as she moved past him, seeing she didn't like not knowing things, and bid the men a goodnight before following after her.

As the days passed the men also learned, rather quickly, that Chris completed basic training before she'd even arrived; she only trained with them because it was expected of her. She'd also come to Toccoa with a basic knowledge of all their jobs, mortars was where she was weakest but in reality she'd never be in that squad. And they saw that she was a hell of a marksman, a close second to their own Shifty Powers. They'd gone head to head one day, each shooting their own targets – she'd been a little right on three of her shots where as Shifty only had one.

"I don't even know what to say, that was," he trailed off holding his target, a large smile on his face as he stared at her.

Even if she'd wanted to she didn't think she would've been able to resist smiling back, his soft southern voice and his sweet face. "You're a damn good shot, Shifty," she'd told him.

It was later that night, the men in their barracks and Chris sitting beside Joe as he helped with another round of poker, that it was finally talked about. "We adding Shifty to the bet?" Floyd asked, finding the more he got to know her the less of a woman she was to him – she was just one of the guys, who happened to be quite pretty.

"I'd say he warmed right up to her," George said looking at where Chris sat with Joe, a small smirk on her mouth as she looked at his frown.

Her mouth straightened into a line when Joe turned to her, seeing on her face she knew he was jealous. "I'd eat him alive," she said taking the cigarette dangling from his lips and putting it between her own. "I have to shower, so do I fold or, what do I do?" she asked putting her cards down, standing when Joe told her she was right.

She left the barrack with a towel in hand to see Winters waiting outside, her having taken a while in coming to find him. "He's still too close, and you're allowing him to get closer," Winters reprimanded.

With a sigh she turned to him, not wanting to have this conversation for a fourth time. "I'm not allowing anything, it's just happening." She watched him roll his eyes, obviously thinking it was an excuse. "Look, Ron is it for me, I don't have anyone else – he's the only family I've ever had. I don't know how these things work, there aren't rules like in card games," she explained, her hands fluttering as she tried to gather her thoughts. "If there's a problem then you need to spell it out for me or talk to him, because I don't know what this is and I sure as hell don't know what to do. And it fucking pisses me off," she exclaimed releasing a breath, though the wrinkle in her brow smoothed when she looked at his taken aback face. "Sir," she finished lamely, realizing she hadn't been talking to a friend but her superior.

Yet he nodded seeing she wasn't encouraging Joe's infatuation, she honestly didn't know what to do and maybe not even what was happening. "Alright," he told her gently, seeing then a very lost young woman, and the need to shelter her swelled in him – he wondered if this was what Speirs felt when he looked at her. "But know if this continues he will fall in love with you."

She looked up at him without an idea of what to do. "You say love like I know what it is," she said sounding almost defeated before she started walking again, leaving Winters to sigh and follow behind her.

Neither of them noticed the figure standing in the shadow that had snuck out of the barrack, overhearing what Winters said about him. Joe waited until they'd gone further before walking back, knowing more about her in that moment then everything he'd learned in the past month.


	5. but I'm hoping at them gates

On the morning of December 1 Dog, Easy, Fox and the HQ Companies began the 118 mile march to Fort Benning in snow and freezing rain. Chris saw, not for the first time, that marching with even the best of the Companies was slow going – in sixteen hours they'd only covered forty miles, and they took more breaks than they needed in her not-quite humble opinion. And many of them complained most of the way; their feet were getting blisters, their packs were getting heavy, their sweat was freezing on their face – the men around her were the quietest, not wanting to be outdone by a woman. Even if that woman only had a backpack with her gear and then another with medic's supplies and a rifle over her shoulder; but she didn't give a word of complaint, not at her irritation, not when her feet ached - she hardly said anything at all except to call someone a twat to shut them up.

"Are your feet even hurting?" Malarkey asked morosely as he rubbed his foot, relieved like all the other men that they were stopping for the night even if it was freezing and windy.

She gave him a hard look before walking to where Joe and Eugene were setting up their pup tent. "You mind if I stay with you two tonight?" she asked, knowing Joe wouldn't even think before saying yes, and so she looked to Roe.

"You already sick of 'em all?" Joe asked grinning, giving her room.

"Not everyone's in your condition, Chris," Roe told her, liking her more after training with her in the medic building – he got to see that she had her downfalls, overshadowed by her strengths as they were. Several times someone came in with a bloody nose or a broken arm, other fighting wounds, and she'd given them an irritable look and called them a pansy before cleaning them up – or she'd roll her eyes and tell them to stop whining it's only a scratch. To which Roe would step in and tell her she was supposed to soothe them not insult them, and she'd lean in close so only he would hear and say they'd done it to themselves fighting; what would they be like when they were shot. He couldn't disagree, they'd all have to grow thicker skins when the bullets started flying, either way she had terrible bedside manner.

She only rolled her eyes before helping beat the pegs into the ground, feeling a cold wind sweep down the hill rattling her bones as she knelt outside of the tent. "There's no use complaining, things could be worse," she muttered crawling inside to lay between the two men.

Joe turned his head to look at her curiously. "You sound like Winters," he told her, smiling when he saw the look on her face when she turned to him.

She only scoffed shaking her head, though in truth it was his voice she'd heard in her head reminding her that most of these men had only started their training that June if not later and even then they hadn't been trained the same way she'd been.

At the sound of the tent flaps rustling by her head she looked up to see George crawling in and stopping when her face was below his. "You'd feel better if you talked about it," he said before looking at the other two who were craning their necks to stare at him. "I love when she talks about it, you get to see inside her pretty little head," he said shaking her head. "Go on, take a breath and just," he exhaled dramatically, "let it out."

With a sigh she reached a hand up as though to brush away the remnants of his fingers on her temple; he had the habit of dancing on the line between funny and obnoxious. Eighty-six percent of the time she loved George Luz, the rest she couldn't stand him – and the reason why he was at the top of her favorites list was because the times she honestly considered hating him only lasted a minute before he'd smile sweetly and charm his way back on her good side. "Just remember you asked for it," she warned him before doing as he said and releasing a breath. "First, the complaining I mean seriously," she started, hearing the faint talking of the men around them – complaining. "Every man here sounds like a, putain," she said motioning to Eugene who let out a rogue laugh, "and it's not as though it's doing anything more than making everyone else miserable. And seriously, our task is not that difficult: carry your gear walk where they tell you, that's it that's all we have to do. Do not," she pointed to Joe who'd opened his mouth to speak, "tell me we're marching cause at the pace we've been going we are strolling through the countryside. And what is with all the damn resting points it's not as if what we're doing's that hard, half the time we're walking in a straight line and yet it's gonna take us three days to get there from all the fucking breaks we keep taking. If it was just me I'd keep going and get there tomorrow afternoon, or at the very least only take a short break in the day because making 'camp' on a winter night is just asking for all our shit to be frozen. It might be a different story if when we got there we'd thrown into battle, but we're literally gonna rest when we get there, which defeats the purpose of so many damn stopping points. Sure some of the gear is heavy but if people would just suck it up, pick up the pace, pop the blisters on their feet, and get the fuck over it maybe we'd get there sooner."

It was abruptly silent after her voice cut off, the three men looking at her in taken aback by the eruption of her thoughts. "Were you thinking that all day?" George asked wondering how she didn't just explode.

Joe watched her nod just as surprise as Luz. "It amazes me you don't hit more people," he told her, not realizing the number of thoughts that constantly swirled in her mind – he noticed she often sat silently looking as though she were listening to a lecture or focusing on running, but there was a blankness to her eyes and he knew she was thinking of other things: the men, their orders and the consequences they'd face as well as what would've been better for them all which of course only multiplied with Sobel's commands – and yet she rarely voiced her opinion on the matter, she remained silent and did as she was told.

"Doesn't it though," she said wryly, having contemplated several times in that month decking at least one of them each day if not all of them. "I do feel better I suppose," she said feeling Luz hit her arm happily.

"Isn't that what I always tell you," George said before backtracking out of the tent. "Oh Chris," he said looking back down at her, "I'll tell 'em to shut their trap tomorrow or you'll do 'em like Muck."

She smiled knowing that'd certainly shut them up, at least to her – they'd still complain, she knew they would; and so she'd spend the next day silently hating them all as they continued on at their unbearably slow pace. Though the moment she rolled on her side and saw Joe's face her smile grew, seeing he was caught between jealously at the friendliness between her and George and realization.

"Shit," he said almost laughing at how obvious it was; out of Easy Company she had her favorites, they all knew it, and George was one of them – and he was always telling her something, usually making her laugh, sometimes softly in her ear. "He's your spy?"

She laughed at the look on his face. "Yeah," she said softly. "He gave up after the assassin part, well really after the Muck part, but he offered to keep tabs on the guys, thought we could be great friends." She watched him as he turned to look at the top of the tent wondering what George had told her. "I know quite a bit about everyone, which'll be good when we get to battle – I'll know who to go to depending on what I need."  
"Who'd you go to?" he asked wondering if it'd be one of the others, wanting her answer to be him.

She knew he did, Ron had told her Joe's exact intentions with her – as he saw them. "Depends on what I need," she answered. "If I'm needing someone I trust fully; Ron," she said simply, he was her choice for everything, "but he won't always be near enough so I'd need someone in Easy." She lay staring at him as he looked back at her waiting for him to ask, knowing he would.

And he would because he knew the answer, and he couldn't understand why it bothered him as much as it did – he barely knew her, and the little he did know should've scared him off like it had the others. But there was something about her, something sad hiding beneath her ferocity that made him want to know her; to be the one that made her laugh or share a secret like Luz, to speak with her in soft French as Roe did, even sit with her going over Intelligence like Nixon did enjoying the span of how smart she was, or to just make her smile like any of the others did throughout the day. "Winters?" he asked though he didn't need her to nod, nor did she because they both knew she held him above the others.

Winters was who she went to; trusting him when she showered and to wrap her breasts without ever considering the thought of trying anything, when she didn't fully understand something they'd gone over in the officer's meeting because unlike Sobel he didn't try to make her seem incompetent, and at Nixon's insistence she sat beside Winters at breakfast and occasionally lunch – of all the men in Easy Company they all knew Dick Winters was her favorite.

She shrugged without answering him, all she'd wanted to know she read on his unhappy face. "I guess I should tell you that you'd be my next choice," she admitted softly watching his brows raise in complete surprise. "Which means you can't quit the paratroopers. You also have to be able to handle what I'd have to do whether it's having my back or saving it, or helping me kill my objective. If I've assumed wrong now's the time to tell me." She watched his face closely seeing his surprise shift to confusion and then contemplation, knowing it was a lot to ask – it'd taken Winters almost an entire day to consider whether he could agree, but staring at her young face he'd been almost flattered that she'd chosen him.

And Joe considered it, for all of a few seconds before nodding. "Why me?"

Her mouth curled in a sly smile. "I don't think you were ever afraid of me," she answered knowing from the look in his eye he didn't understand. "I can't depend on a person who doesn't trust me and you're the only one who didn't blink at the briefing."

He stared at her wishing he could actually see her face, but with the sun gone and the tent flaps closed he could barely see the gleam of her eyes. "How do you know, I could be scared of you right now?" he asked trying for some way of denying his infatuation – the guys all ribbed him about it when they caught him looking at her.

But she smiled, George having told her quite a bit about Joe Liebgott. "You're not," she said softly, not saying any more because she honestly didn't know why he wasn't as wary of most of the guys still were – he didn't know it, no one but Winters did, but he was actually her favorite.

Joe could only shake his head, wondering what the hell she was doing to him; even then he could barely keep himself from smiling. "No I'm not," he agreed seeing her small smile.

"I'm glad you're bonding, Chris," Roe said from behind her, thrusting his way into their reverie, "and I'm glad it's someone who understands your crazy. But if we gotta another day and a half of this, I wanna sleep."

Chris smirked and craned her neck to look at him. "Fine, but you have to do something," she said making him raise a brow unhappily. "Scoot closer," she told him knowing he wasn't particularly fond enough of her to want to, but he rolled his eyes and pressed his shoulder against hers. "A pretty smile goes a long way," she told them both as she opened her bag and pulling out a blanket, causing both damp freezing men to push even closer.

"How the hell'd you get Sobel to agree?" Joe asked taking his end gratefully as she spread it over the three of them.

She laid between them comfortably, though the blanket was only long enough to cover all three of their chests leaving most of their legs uncovered – but she was quite warm. "I went to Colonel Sink, explained that women don't generate as much body heat as men and that the person I shared a tent with might find it easier to keep his hands off me if he was getting something else out of sleeping beside me," she answered simply.

Eugene looked over at Joe, who only shrugged as he settled against her, and then looked to Chris. "You're brilliant sometimes," he told her making her smile as she closed her eyes; she'd spent years learning how to effectively manipulate people, and she could fool nearly everyone – save Ron, he somehow always saw through her.

She'd been right in how long it'd take them to reach Fort Benning, after waking up to everything frozen to the ground, and another day's worth of marching and a night shivering in their tents, they were greeted with a parade at their achievement. Chris found it all frivolous, the order itself had been enough motivation for her – but at the sound of people cheering and a band a sense of pride had straightened their spines, and those who'd needed a hand to help them stand could march on their own; it encouraged them, pushed them forward even though they'd lost the energy miles before.

…

That Monday Chris stood beside Sergeant Lipton almost behind Lieutenant Winters as he spoke to the jump school sergeants, who were very confused and even more unwilling to train a woman; and all Captain Sobel had told Winters was to deal with it before he'd stalked away. This was only A stage, they still had B, C, and D to go through with other sergeants discovering one of their trainees was female – and their female was incredibly unhappy to be faced with this again, and she scowled deeply at the men talking to Winters. "Private Woodridge had already completed basic training when he arrived, and then he continued with Easy Company completing it again. He's better fit than anyone in the Company."

"You're saying 'he' like that's not a woman," a man said looking at Chris suspiciously.

A younger sergeant moved closer to him. "I don't know I mean his chest's flat as a board, could just be a strange-lookin' fella," he offered, though in all honesty her face was simply too angled and her mouth too sweet and full to pass for a boy – whether or not her breasts were completely flattened.

But the man shook his head stubbornly. "I know a woman's face and that's no boy. She won't last a day in a training, she's too weak for it, sir," he told Winters who sighed irritably. The man looked to the private in question and his face paled at the black look on her face, seeing the sergeant beside her with a hand around her waist keeping her from moving toward him – Lipton didn't know what she'd do if she got her hands on him, but from the cold look in her eye he wasn't planning to find out.

Winters looked at her over his shoulder, remembering Colonel Sink telling them outside of Easy she didn't exist, seeing in her enraged eyes she wanted to show this man she was more than fit to rip him apart. "Will you still refuse if he lets Private Woodridge go?" Dick asked turning to the man to see his shocked face.

He quickly grew red as he looked between the Lieutenant and the woman. "Don't say I didn't warn you, she runs it first," he said furiously as he marched away, leaving Winters to turn back to Chris almost smiling as he shook his head.

As they all knew she proved the sergeants wrong, leaving the man who'd refused her training behind as she ran – and she never broke a sweat as she waited at the end for him to catch up.

"She's certainly something," Nixon said fondly beside Dick as they watched her.

He smiled as she impatiently waited on the panting sergeant. "Don't ever tell her she can't do something, Nix," he told him, caring more for her than he knew he should; something Nixon knew as well, and he grinned elbowing him.

…

"This'll be the first of five exits from a C-47 aircraft scheduled for today. Upon successful completion of your fifth and final jump you'll be certified army paratroopers. There'll be a lot of men dropping from the sky today, hopefully under deployed canopies. Jumping from 1000 feet AGL in sticks of 12 jumpers per aircraft, all you have to do is remember what you were taught and I guarantee you gravity will take care of the rest. And gentlemen, rest assured, any refusals in the aircraft or at the door and I guarantee you, you will be out of the airborne."

Chris sat beside Joe listening to the sergeant, quietly listening as they answered him with a yes or no sir, waiting like the rest of them to jump. "Scared?" she asked as they stood.

He looked at her grinning. "No fucking way," he told her, a glint in his dark eyes at the thrill of the danger.

Colonel Sink had ordered her no farther than the third man on any plane, in case anything happened he wanted her close enough to the door she could get out – both Captain Sobel and Winters, one of whom she'd be flying with when they actually jumped into war, had the order that if anything were to happen she was to leave that plane at any cost even if it was their own life.

And so she sat preparing to jump with the men for the first time sitting beside Perconte with Bill at the front – Winters often had her in Bill's platoon, he was one of the few men Winters trusted not to be bullied into doing what she said; whether it was a dark look or sweet smile. "You look like it's Christmas," Perconte yelled to her, seeing on her face she was excited; he was nervous, almost shaking, but she smiled and nudged him almost gleefully.

"It's the only good thing about being a paratrooper," she yelled back making Bill laugh incredulous – even he was anxious about the first jump.

But Perconte didn't agree, at least not yet. "You jumped before you got here," he said seeing from the flash of her teeth he was right. "Son of a bitch," he muttered shaking his head. She'd gone through a mock jump months before to see that she could actually do it, it was the most fun she thought she'd ever had – and if she had to die, that was the way she'd wanna go; with a full view.

At the end of that first jump when they'd all hit the ground and fumbled awkwardly with their parachutes Perconte turned to her, finding her stripped of her parachute and it already folded back into a bag, and he gave a giddy laugh ready to do it again.

…

Chris left George serving drinks, an amused grin curling her mouth from something he'd said and a full glass of beer he'd poured her in hand. "You fill your uniform out well," Joe said when she stopped beside him, smiling at the hard look in her eye.

"Give it up, Joe, it's not happening," she told him.

His smile grew as he took a swig of his beer. "It's been three months, Chris," he needled making her roll her eyes, though he caught the twitching of her mouth. "You won't always have Winters to go to and you trust me more than anyone here."

She gave a short laugh and a shake of her head. "I might trust you the least with my breasts," she said hearing him, Talbert, Popeye and Grant laugh at how true it was. "But unless I'm dressed as a German soldier I don't plan to wrap them; thanks for the offer."

Joe's brows rose catching an admittance she hadn't realized she'd given. "You wrap them," he repeated, seeing the tightening of her jaw when she realized what she'd said, "so you do have 'em. I can't wait til we get over there."

With a heavy sigh she took a long gulp of her drink wishing it was stronger. "You're a piece of work, Liebgott," she said making him laugh.

"Yeah but you like me," he said watching her take a deep breath rolling her eyes, but she didn't refuse – and he turned to Talb and grinned at his obvious victory, even if he only earned her friendship in the end.

She downed the rest of her beer before setting it on the table. "I'll see you back at barracks," she said as a farewell before walking through the men toward the exit. "Colonel Sink," she said raising her hand to salute when she found him walking toward the building.

"Private Woodridge," he said returning her gesture, "I was hoping you'd find me, and before you can ask no you do not have orders during the week long pass," he said seeing her confusion; when the matter of what she'd do for the week was brought up to him he'd paused saddened at realizing she had no home to return to, at least until one man stepped forward claiming her. "I'm sure there's a note on your bed, along with a gift I was told you won't like, explaining your plans for the week. And I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, Private," he told her, not easing her wondering but she saluted him as he went before hurrying to her barrack.

_You're coming with me, kid. My parents are excited to see you again, my mother especially. Don't make me dress you tomorrow, wear the damn skirt. – Ron S._

She looked at the dark blue skirt and white blazer Ron bought her already loathing the idea of wearing it and then brassier Sobel hadn't taken from her yet; but she couldn't deny the warmth that spread in her chest at realizing he'd planned ahead of time for her to come home with him, a place she hadn't been in years. Whether or not she had to wear a fucking skirt.

"What's that?" Joe asked, having left after Colonel Sink's speech to see what she'd left for, looking up from the skirt on the bed to the note in her hand. She let him read it over her shoulder, surprising him with just how fond of her Speirs was. "So you do have a home," he said having thought she hadn't; on Christmas she'd asked why some of the men were upset, asked rather callously, though he realized quite suddenly she'd never had a home or family to miss – and he remembered several weeks ago when he'd overheard her and Winters, realizing she'd probably never had anyone love her. It'd made him horribly sad knowing that, at seeing her closed off eyes or pretty smile and knowing why she was so unbearably sad.

She shrugged folding the little paper before stuffing it in a pocket of her bag. "I hadn't realized I did," she said softly, not understanding the swelling in her eyes or why her throat hurt. She shook herself of the foreign emotions and grabbed her towel, knowing Winters would be coming soon as he'd told her earlier. "You should be with the guys celebrating," she said knowing why he was there but not understanding it.

He only raised a shoulder knowing he had no excuse. "I was curious why you left," he said as a half-hearted explanation. "Besides, real celebration's waiting at home."

She smiled, pushing aside whatever had overtaken her, as she found herself in a much easier conversation. "Oh, do you have a girl waiting for you?" she teased.

"I could," he said in stubborn defense.

She laughed lightly shaking her head. "But you don't," she said.

He turned to see a smile on her face, a face more innocent than it had a right to be. "It's a week I could find me a pretty dame, one I've known my whole life," he said, offering the possibility of it – and it was a possibility, if he'd actually do it.

And she hummed in agreement before shaking her head. "But you won't," she told him knowing he wouldn't. "You, finding a girl back home?" she asked watching him shrug with his back to her and his arms crossed, stepping closer until she was beside him.

She shocked him, completely and utterly shocked him – his heart had palpitated and his lungs had paused – at the feel of her sweet mouth pressed briefly against his cheek. He turned to her with furrowed brows not entirely sure if it'd actually happened, lord knew she snuck into his dreams often enough. But he knew this was no dream there was no flirtatious grin, no biting of her lip or batting her eyes – those were things any other girl would do. Chris stood staring at him with unreadably hot eyes, a look that left him wanting to kiss her. But she smirked and stepped away from him, leaving him wanting more than she'd offer. "Have a happy Jewish Christmas," she told him with an easy smile, knowing she shouldn't have done what she just did but not finding it in herself to care enough to regret it.

She stepped out of the barrack and turned to see Winters and Nixon walking up. "Well I know why Dick's here," she said, him having agreed to her calling him Dick on their nightly walks and he called her Christine.

Nixon smiled slinging an arm around her thin shoulders. "Alcohol wasn't to my liking," he said but it was only partially true; he and Dick would spend most of the night talking amongst each other, it was almost as good as drinking, if he squinted hard enough.

She shook her head and let him walk with his arm around her. "You know, I might've gotten you a bottle of that Vat whatever you like and hid it in your bag," she told him.

"Vat 69?" he asked stopping as he turned to her; he'd drank his last one the other night and was planning to bring a couple more bottles when he came back from the pass.

She nodded trying not to laugh at the hopeful look on his face. "I also might've drunken a quarter of it, or half, depending on how you measure it," she said waving a hand to dismiss her having drunk from his small present.

He stared at her pretty face wondering how he'd ever thought of her as more than the young girl he now knew her to be. "You're a good kid, Chris," he told her, grabbing her face and kissing her forehead even though she stiffened unhappily at his display of affection. He stood holding her face in his hands, seeing her creased brow and her pursed lips as she fought not to say anything, and he gave a small laugh before kissing her again and leaving her and Dick for the bottle she'd gotten him.

Chris watched him go wiping the wetness from his mouth off her skin. "I'd say don't ever do that, but by the end of the war I'll have a kiss outta you," she told Dick as they began walking.

He looked at her startled. "That will not happen," he informed her, though seeing her smile he wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't somehow manage it – he honestly didn't know, and so he refused to say anything more about it. "How did you get him that bottle?" he asked.

"It was pretty easy," she said shrugging it off. "Last weekend when I actually used my pass, at Ron's insistence, I bought us both a bottle of, well that's not important," she said not admitting how strong of an alcohol she'd gotten, he already didn't like her drinking since she had a few years til 21. "Anyways, I told the guy I had a friend who loved Vat 69 and I'd never found anyone who had it so I could try it. And wouldn't you know it, the man had a quite a few bottles," she said making Dick smile knowing how it'd end. "As I keep saying a pretty smile goes a long way because he gave me, just this one, for free to go along with my other one. Which, I'm not gonna say when we drank it," she said knowing he'd strongly disapprove.

And he certainly did, he held her arm to keep her from going into the showers keeping him from asking what she shouldn't tell him. "Was it after curfew?" he asked her though he already knew the answer.

But she pursed her lips and shook her head shrugging, her face a mask of innocence. "Of course not," she told him looking baffled as to how he could think of such a thing.

He stood outside of the building standing watch and it took him a minute to remember that he knew for fact that she had shared a drink, which was contraband, with Ron after curfew, which was punishable, and yet she'd fooled him of her innocence for a moment. But he didn't say anything when they walked back to the barracks, her hair wet and her breasts now unwrapped – which they would stay until she came back in a week – and the lights on because they'd planned on her showering well before lights out.

She looked at the wrapped rectangle he held out for her and turned to him with wondrous eyes. "Is that for me?" she asked with a little smile. General Donovan had been the only person to ever give her a gift but that stopped when she was taken from him, and all his presents had come in beautiful bags with colorful paper. This was a brown bag wrapping what was inside, and she couldn't wait to open it because she knew Dick had really thought about what to get her.

It honestly warmed his heart at seeing how touched she was, at how excited she was at receiving a gift. "I wasn't sure what you'd want," he said watching as she pulled the tape off to reveal the two books underneath. "I saw you reading 'The Sun Also Rises' and I saw you reread it, and I made a guess."

She turned the books on their side to see they were both by Ernest Hemingway, whom she quite adored, to see one was a very new book – 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and the other 'A Farewell to Arms.' He watched her hold the books up to her mouth, seeing she was smiling before she managed to force her mouth to stop. "Thank you," she told him softly lowering the books.

"You're welcome," he told her sincerely, glad to know she liked them; he'd almost not gotten her anything until Lew asked if he was, since he was quite fond of her. He was just about to bid her a merry Christmas and good evening when she pulled a small box out of the uniform she'd changed out of. He took it from her surprised that she'd gotten him anything as he untied the ribbon wrapped around it.

She smiled at the look on his face when he opened the box. "I saw you looking at it last weekend," she said, leaving out the part where she'd seen him count his money for it only to not have enough. He looked down at her speechless, seeing more in that moment than any other, the sweet girl she'd once been. "Merry Christmas, Dick," she told him smiling, leaving him still unable to speak as he stared at the watch he'd wanted as she entered her barrack.

At the sound of the door opening Joe looked up from the book Chris almost constantly was reading, when she wasn't studying German Intelligence, a book he honestly couldn't stand because he didn't know half the words and even when he did they didn't make any sense – she'd explained to him when he asked, and for the life of him he didn't know how she got that out of the lengthy jumbled sentences.

It was always lights out when she got done in the shower, she'd come in and lay down in her bed hear a goodnight from whoever was awake and went to sleep, and then woke up so Winters could wrap her breasts before the others woke – not once had any man besides Dick Winters, and Ron Speirs, seen that she had breasts. So when Joe looked up from the book he saw for the first time that she actually was a woman, breasts big enough to fill his hand, and she was Jewish; he'd never stood a chance. "Jesus Christ."


	6. they'll tell me that you're mine

_June 1943_

In the months after Easy moved to Kentucky the men were treated with a surprise, which came as more of a shock. Most of her days she spent at Eugene Roe's side in the hospital, evading curious glances and questions from the female nurses as best she could – her weekends she spent off base, Kentucky closer to her headquarters in Virginia, furthering her skills.

"Hey Eugene," she said one morning after returning to camp, catching him as the others left. "Could you do me a favor?"

Winters looked over the men before turning to Sobel unhappily. "Woodridge and Roe aren't in line."

Sobel's jaw clenched before he nodded. "Send someone to get them," he said before turning away from his Lieutenant.

Dick stared at him confused, having thought the Captain would be furious – she and Sobel had been butting heads for weeks. "Guarnere," he called before passing on the order.

Bill did as told, going first to their barrack to see if they'd even left yet, and walked in to see Roe on his knees and Chris without a shirt. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, moving his eyes from her breasts to her bruised ribs, "who the fuck did this to you?"

"I'm fine," she said waiting as Roe began wrapping her ribs and seeing Bill wasn't satisfied. "After two weekends this'll be nothing."

His hands curled into fists. "That ain't training," he told her prepared to go to Colonel Sink himself – he'd never realized how thin she was, sure she was tough and more fit than half of them but then she just looked small.

Chris shook her head not irritated at him but in general. "I know the details of almost every operation, and I know secrets the Germans won't want me to – it's necessary to ensure I won't talk under force," she said bitterly as she took a shallow breath. She refused to look at Eugene when he looked up at her, both knowing she wouldn't have an easy time with training. It took him no more than two minutes before they were leaving the barrack and walking toward the others, who hadn't been told to wait and were currently doing calisthenics before they began training that day – which was now actually preparing them for war, as well as it could.

Bill, who'd silently seethed from knowing she was being hurt, and Roe fell in line while Sobel motioned Chris to his side. "Colonel Sink informed me of your weekend and the remaining two you have left. He also told me to be lenient with you if you fall behind, but that won't be a problem, will it Private Woodridge?" he asked without ever looking at her.

"No sir," she answered.

"Good," he told her expecting the answer. "How are you feeling?"

She looked up at him with the same face she would've worn if she'd eaten something rotten; a deep ridge between her brows, a wrinkled nose, a frowning mouth. "Fine, sir," she answered unsure of his intention with asking.

He rolled his eyes at the confused wariness in her eye. "You're being tortured," he told her simply; he didn't think he was completely without mercy.

Without much to say she nodded having expected him not to care at all, now she was lost for what to do. "Ask me after the last weekend," she told him meeting his eye when he turned to her. "I might ask for your leniency then, but tell me I'm weak and I'll push through it."

He stared hard at her for several moments, hearing Winters giving the men an order, before shaking his head. "Most days I wish I told the Colonel no when he asked if I'd allow you in Easy," he told her, honestly not knowing if he did in that moment.

"Yeah a lot of times I do too. Only reason I'm glad you didn't is cause I like most of these assholes," she said turning away from his surprised face waiting for him to give them the order to move out.

"Chris," Talbert said slowly as she fell in line, seeing the swell of her breasts under her shirt.

She rolled her eyes without turning to him. "I don't wanna hear a word," she warned him.

"Or what?" Muck asked teasing.

It'd been a bad idea, she knew the moment she thought of it and she knew when Eugene asked – but she couldn't not wrap her ribs and then train, that was an even worse idea. And so she used the only excuse that worked on Ron. "I'll cry," she answered seriously, waiting for their laughter of disbelief to fade as they realized she was completely serious that she'd cry if they mentioned anything about her breasts – which they all took note of after months of seeing her flat chest.

Malarkey nudged Muck. "You really think she'll cry?" he asked him.

Muck only shook his head. "I'm not finding out."

…

"What is it?" Joe asked her after dinner, having caught her wincing several times that day – and now she laid exhausted on the bed without the energy to get up to shower. But she shrugged and mumbled it was nothing as she had every time she was asked. "You wouldn't be showing us your titties if it was nothing."

She smiled knowing he said titties cause she didn't like it. "Shut your trap and help me up," she muttered taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet, feeling his other hand wrap around her back aware she was in pain. Brushing his hands aside she grabbed a towel and left them, walking as though she wasn't as tired and sore as she felt – but they wouldn't leave her alone if they knew what she was being prepared for, and meeting Bill outside of the barrack she knew they wouldn't anyway.

And she wasn't wrong; after walking with Dick, who was curious as to why she'd been late and why Sobel hadn't punished either her or Roe, who'd turned to her shocked at her answer before remaining silent with his teeth clenched silently fuming at the people she answered to; she returned to a barrack that fell silent the moment she entered. Bill was gone, Joe was sitting on his bed with red knuckles beside a wall that didn't even have a dent, and they were all staring at her – she could do little more than roll her eyes and climb in her bed. "If you even think about it," she nearly growled making Muck recoil from helping her. "Lights're out in two minutes, stop staring at me," she demanded pulling the covers over her wanting to sleep. But even then she could feel their eyes on her, hearing their whispers, and she sighed. "If I'm ever taken prisoner I have to be able to withstand torture, it'll be over in two weeks. And if I hear a single word from any of you I will kick your ass."

It was silent as they looked at each other wondering what they were supposed to say; training was one thing, punishing someone with Currahee had been one thing – but training someone using torture was something else unheard of. And they didn't know what to say. "Before or after you feel better?" George asked joking lightly, unsure how she'd take it. But he smiled when he heard her snort.

"Depends on what I hear," she answered making a few of them chuckle even though none of them were happy with it.

And it didn't get better, it got a lot worse – the next Monday she showed up with a bruise on her collarbone and covering her legs, and only Roe saw the ones hidden beneath her shirt. But she trained with them as if she were fine, gritting her teeth and wiping the sweat off her brow, leaning on Joe briefly when she needed it.

"I'm not telling you," she told Joe another time hearing him sigh. "You punched a wall last time," she said looking over a code she hadn't broken yet. After a minute she growled a sigh and turned to where he sat beside her. "You're not allowed to say anything, you can't even make a fist," she told him waiting for him to reluctantly nod – it was different now that he couldn't react, cause she knew he was furious at the idea someone was putting their hands on her. "There was hitting, and kicking," she said watching the muscle in his jaw contract as he clenched his teeth. "They tied me up and dunked my head underwater," she said softly knowing that was the part that'd infuriate him the most.

And it did, it enraged him to know that this was being done to her and even more that she was acting like it was nothing; he grabbed her arm and looked at the bruise on her wrist, seeing then she'd been tied up. He looked at her to see her waiting for him to say something, waiting to cut him off; so he didn't say anything, he sat beside her as she turned back to her notes keeping his hold on her arm as they sat quietly side by side.

She could barely lift her rifle the next Monday, couldn't even bring her tray to the table for meals – Tuesday morning without asking he stood at her back and pulled the collar of her shirt down to see the deep bruises over her shoulders. "Fuck, what the hell'd they do to you?"

"We don't have time for this," she said stepping away from him, unable to lift her arms high enough push his hands away. "I passed, that's all that matters," she told him before leaving the barrack, glad that it was over.

* * *

By September when they were due to be shipped Europe Chris had finished the basics of being a paratrooper, and most of the men knew it.

"So what'll you do when we're training?" Perconte asked standing across from as they waited to board the train, as unhappy as the others that she wouldn't be around as much.

Chris shrugged at the vagueness of the question. "I'll work mostly Intelligence I suppose," she answered. "Probably break codes, plan attacks, I'm sure at some point they'll send me to gather enemy Intelligence – since I'm trained as a paratrooper they'll probably fly me where they want me and I'll sneak into enemy ranks," she answered offhandedly, pushing the papers beneath her arm higher up.

"Wait, you're leaving us?" Johnny asked turning around to look at her,

She sighed having thought she'd explained all this when she first told them. "No, I'll be on base most days with Nixon and even if I go into town I'll be back for dinner. But if they send me behind enemy lines I would be gone about a month or two. It doesn't matter what I do while you guys finish your training, I'm going with you to war," she told them before turning away shaking her head as she caught Joe's eye.

He shrugged without sympathy. "I'm not any happier you're leaving us," he said just as sore she was done training as the others. "But," he said stepping closer, "I might forgive you if you tell me where we're going."

She smiled shaking her head. "Nixon told me not to, mentioning you specifically," she said seeing him smirking as he waited – it hadn't stopped her from telling him unauthorized information before. "England," she whispered, surprised he hadn't figured it out before – she was surprised none of them had, she was learning German Intelligence after all. A grin curled on his mouth and she held a finger up to her lips feeling her own smile before she turned away to see George at her back, feeling Joe step away from her side leaving her.

"You told me before Joe," he said smiling as she rolled her eyes.

She shrugged not seeing why it was important. "Well you tell me everyone else's secrets, I guess it's fair."

But he shook his head. "No, Joe's your favorite and you told me before you told him."

"He's not my favorite," she said unwilling to admit it aloud – she could practically hear the lecture Dick would give her if he heard it out of her mouth.

George snorted. "Yeah and we're gonna get married and have kids," he said sarcastically making her smile. "He's your favorite, we've already been over this and Speirs doesn't count," he told her. "Neither does Winters," he added before she could speak leaving her to close her mouth with nothing else to say. "So I'm high up there on your list of favorites, we all know you have one. Does this put me in second place?" he asked waiting for her to answer.

She stared at him confused by his question, so much so she turned to look around to see if someone else had heard and had anything offer. "Is it not obvious?" she asked having thought he knew she considered him a friend.

His grin spread into a smile. "So, is there a chance,"

"We're not getting married or having kids," she told him blandly before turning from him, hearing him laughing as Bull stopped beside him.

"Hey darlin'," he drawled with his cigar dangling from his mouth reaching for her pack before tossing it with the others.

She waited until he looked back to her. "Thank you," she told him sincerely – she didn't always appreciate his 'gentle handling' but he was a kind man, and she loved his stories about Arkansas. After he nodded, smiling behind his cigar, she turned to find Joe kneeling beside Cobb, Shifty, Toye and Popeye.

"Well I'm always fumbling with grenades, it'd be easy if one went off by accident, you know?" he asked sardonically making Popeye smile. At the feel of someone at his back he looked up to see Chris with an amused smirk and a cigarette in her mouth – he knew she'd be the first kill Sobel if his incompetence, as she'd called it, put them in danger.

…

Chris walked through the rows of bunks filled with men, most of whom had still actually yet to see her well enough to see she was a woman – but none of whom reached a hand for her whether it was her own dark eyes daring them to give her a reason to hit one of them or Speirs at her back with the same face making the men recoil in fear.

"I guess here's where we part," she said when she saw familiar faces from both his and her Company.

He nodded unhappily, wishing she'd had a bed next to his – her having told him George was who she was bunked with not appeasing him in the slightest. "I could talk to Sobel tell him it'd be better if you were with me, hell put you with Winters," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes only half amused. "George really isn't that bad, he's the one I told you about; tells me about all the guys, agreed to keep his dreams in his head. It won't be that bad, most of them are completely fine," she said hitting him lightly on the chest before walking away, knowing he'd continue to refuse if she didn't.

Though the moment she'd gotten a few bunks to where she knew George was she was stopped by a mass of arms swinging and boys yelling. "Seriously," she growled looking for George who smiled when he saw her face. "What in God's name do you men think you're doing?" George cried imitating Sobel, silencing the men immediately as they looked for their Captain. Only they were met with Chris' face as she shoved through them. "I'm going up to my bed you can continue being idiots when I'm outta the way," she told them shouldering her way through.

"You know she's a Jew," Joe said moving to let her through.

"No shit," Bill said looking her over, not seeing any sign that was true – he knew she was French, and staring at her then he could only say she looked French. "I don't believe it, you ain't a daughter of Abraham," he said shaking his head.

She cocked a brow staring at him haughtily. "Are you trying to insult me?"

He smiled seeing the familiar glimmer in her eyes. "Your nose ain't big enough, look at Joe's – look at Sobel's."

"Keep running your mouth, Bill," she said, her voice a low grumble, watching him smile. "You're a handsome man, look at that jaw and those cheekbones, almost beautiful" she said making him pause at the complement, a dare hiding in her low timbre. "I'd hate to be the one to ruin that." He laughed at her threat though they all knew she could easily win a fight against any of them. "Two hits, that's all it'd take. First one'll break your nose, so sudden you won't even know to block the second one," she said stepping closer, her voice a soft purr as she reached a hand to his face. "I'll hit you right here," her fingers brushed against the top of his cheek, "shatter your cheekbone and the eye socket, your face'll cave in. And I'm feeling a little generous so I'll let you choose which side of your face you'd rather it be." It was utterly silent around them at the severity of her threat, half of them scared shitless of her. She watched Bill closely, seeing the corner of his mouth twitch as he continued to stare at her eyes. "Left or right?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper.

He didn't doubt for a second that she could do what she said, there was a coldness to her eyes, the absence of humanity that was hidden when she smiled. "Are you sure I'm not your favorite?"

All threat evaporated in the warm damp air at her smile. "You tie for second with George," she told him making him laugh. There were very few men she could talk to like she just had, and even if she scared them they trusted her enough to know she wouldn't actually hurt them – Bill was one of them as was Joe, George, Bull, Nixon, Malarkey though not quite Muck. And Winters, though he wouldn't be afraid of her he'd be pissed at the way she'd spoken to him and she'd be fully reprimanded for it; and shit if she didn't love the man for it. "Get the fuck back in bed," she told Bill before turning to Joe, "both of you," she said before moving past him to the row she wanted before climbing.

Joe watched her climb feeling a heat searing his bloodstream; she was so cold and heartless, so frighteningly sexy he was left speechless. Bill nudged him forcing his eyes off her. "Shit if you's not the only one who could handle that," he told him giving a light laugh before laying back in his bed.

Chris felt a hand on her leg before she was thrust into her assigned bed and on top of George, who smiled happily beneath her. "Thanks Pat," she said before settling on her side against George.

"No problem," he told her, having cupped her ass in the process. "When they assigned us two to a bunk I don't think that's what they meant," he said looking up to see the shape of George on his back and Chris on her side possibly on him.

"Hey," George said throwing an arm out to silence Christenson below him, "you shut up, this is exactly what they meant." He didn't bother laughing, instead he wrapped an arm around her back.

She shouldered her way out of his grasp and sat up to look down at him. "Look, we're gonna be bunking together on this ship for three maybe four weeks, don't make me hurt you."

"The fuck," he muttered looking up at her. "A month on this damn thing?"

She only shrugged before laying back down with her head on his shoulder. "Yeah well, behave." She settled herself down to rest, or just lay there quietly, but a hand smacking her had her turning to see Pat's hand up with cards in it. "Touch my ass again," she warned hearing him laughing beneath her as she handed the cards to George before taking another set for herself.

And so existed their weeks aboard the ship; George and Chris, who were the only two to shared their bunk simultaneously at any given time and even then it wasn't comfortable but they had a place to be rather than stand on deck, and whoever was around played cards – mostly ribbing Chris cause she didn't know what the hell they were playing – or sitting with Joe. George would leave when Joe climbed up, the two mostly spoke in German and he never understood them. "Should just trade bunks with you," he'd mutter as he climbed down.

But for the most part she and George stayed in their bunk, the ship was small and over crowded, and hell wasn't half as hot. For the most part they slept, or she read and he'd tell her to read to him. He didn't always understand the poems in 'Leaves of Grass' – which Dick had gotten her for her birthday at Nix's suggestion – but he enjoyed the rhythm of her voice, and he most always fell asleep.

"That ain't fair," Perconte said looking down from his bunk to see Chris asleep on her back and George drooling on her chest.

"No it ain't," Pat agreed reading her book while she slept.

"Yeah but he won't try nothin'" Bull said climbing up to trade spots with Pat. And he was right, somehow George was one of the very few who wouldn't try anything – except to make her laugh.

* * *

While the 506th was stationed in Aldbourne Chris often went into the heart of London to meet up with the unit stationed there – once venturing further and meeting Alan Turing, the man she found insufferable, but he had a brilliant mind. But most days she spent locked away in a building with the Intelligence officers, namely Nixon, going over strategies and the like – and when she wasn't in headquarters she was in the hospital, sometimes with Roe when he wasn't in the field training.

"You gonna come out with us this time?" George asked sitting on her cot as he tied his shoes about to leave with his weekend pass like the rest of them.

She shook her head with an arm slung over her eyes. "I'm so fucking tired," she mumbled, nearly the same reason every weekend if she wasn't already busy.

"Aw come on," Johnny told her, "the new guy's wanting to meet ya."

She sat herself up on an arm and looked at him. "We have a new guy?" she asked.

George laughed shaking his head. "She said the same thing when I told her Sobel wasn't Captain anymore, and when I told her Winters got a Court Martial."

Her eyes widened. "You didn't tell me that," she said – both Nixon and Dick had decided, without consulting her, that it'd be best if his Court Martial wasn't brought up to her because they both knew she very well may threaten Sobel.

"Oh," George said remembering Winters telling him to keep her from knowing, "that's right I didn't," he said. "But the new guy still wants to meet you."

Neither Nixon nor George, who were her only source of information on what was going on since she literally only saw the guys when she was sleeping, had told her a thing about anyone new. She thought about it, honestly thought about getting up and spending a night of base – at least for two seconds before she laid back down with a sigh. "He can meet me later," she told them. "Now get out, have fun." George laughed hitting her leg before they left their shared tent, leaving her with only one man still sitting on his bed dressed and ready to leave. "You too Joe," she told him.

"You should come with us," he said standing and moving to lay beside her in the small space, "the guys miss you."

She smiled before rolling on her side bringing her face to face with him. "You sure it's just them who miss me?" she asked teasingly.

He grinned without answering, he wouldn't admit that aloud – at least not yet. And so he laid on the small cot pressed against her for several moments, enough that her eyes grew heavy and her breathing began to deepen. "We could just lay here, sleep all weekend," he offered, honestly not wanting to move.

"We did that last weekend," she said softly, barely moving her lips. "Go have fun this time." She smiled at the feel of his hand brushing the hair away from her face, hearing his quiet okay. "And I'm not asleep, don't you kiss me again," she said too tired to carve a warning into her voice.

"Okay," he told her having wondered if she'd remembered that – he almost hadn't, but he'd woken early last Sunday morning and found her mouth too close to resist, and even then he'd only just felt her soft lips against his own before she'd begun to stir and he pulled away.

She forced her eyes open and looked at him, seeing very clearly on his face he was considering it. "Kiss me before we jump," she told him softly seeing the surprise on his face.

And he was surprised, staring at her with raised brows. "Really?"

"Yeah," she breathed smiling gently wondering what the hell she was doing. "You should go before I change my mind," she said turning so her back was to him.

But that did little to deter him as he moved to hover over her, an arm on either side of her holding him up. "I'll get a kiss outta you one way or another," he told her seeing her smile.

Her mouth was a thin line when a little sense returned to her. "That's inappropriate, you'd be transferred if it was ever found out," she told him as she turned her head to look up at him.

He grinned shaking his head. "Yes, Lieutenant Winters," he told her kissing her cheek before she could push him away, and he laughed at her surprised face before standing and leaving.

…

In the weeks that followed Chris helped Nixon set up the lecture boards for the jump in Normandy, going over with him what Easy would do when they landed and made for Carentan – a lecture the men received though she didn't sit in on it. While her objective overlapped with Easy's, the town of Carentan, she wasn't stopping at any point to check in until after Easy arrived, a couple days after landing, and secured the town – and hopefully at that point she would've moved through the buildings and collected what Intelligence there was to find.

That was her mission, that was the operation she planned and memorized while the men did the same with their own.

"You're gonna be there on your lonesome?" Popeye asked after she'd told Joe what her mission was.

She nodded as she continued looking over the map trying to memorize every detail so she could find the town no matter where they dropped – she was preparing for the chance they'd miss the drop zone; every day she wasted trying to find her way into the town meant it'd be that much harder for Easy when they finally arrived. "You're not gonna have anyone else?" Shifty's soft voice asked when she said nothing.

She looked up to see all of the men staring at her, Joe included as he sat beside her. "My being alone is beneficial, it means I'm uninhibited and make less noise – if I'm in a tight spot I'll hole up til nightfall and move around then. Besides, you'll be coming a few days later, I'll be fine," she said waving a hand dismissively before looking back to the map spread over her and Joe's lap.

They didn't know how she was so calm about being alone surrounded by Germans without a single friend with her, that's not what they were trained for – they didn't realize she was jumping into war already betting on not coming back.

…

Chris and Joe found themselves side by side in her tent looking over the map she'd taken from HQ to study from while the others all sat together in agonized anxiety as they watched a film.

"So you're heading here the moment we land," Joe said pointing to Carentan on the map. "How do we know you're not dead?" he asked realizing then, their jump having been delayed a day, that she was really going off on her own.

She shrugged taking a drag of her cigarette before handing it to him. "I either meet up with you when you get there, or I'm dead," she answered, it honestly being as simple as that.

He stared with furrowed brows at the map, as though it were the one at fault for her mission. "So you're jumping with Lieutenant Meehan, because he has the order to put your life before his, and then for who knows how many days you're either gonna be dead or in an occupied town without anyone to have your back," he said summarizing what was going to happen starting tomorrow.

"Joe," she said impatient and restless at not having jumped that day, forcing him to look at her, "would it make you feel better if I let you kiss me?"

He turned to her with brows still knitted deeply. "No," he told her honestly, "but I'm gonna kiss you anyways; you said before we jumped, remember."

She smiled letting him pull her closer. "You kissed me yesterday when we thought we were leaving today," she reminded him.

He smiled wrapping an arm around her back, leaving her locked against his chest. "Are you saying no?"

She should, she should tell him this was borderline illegal and they'd both be transferred and punished dully for it – not to mention Dick's voice reminding her that she was letting him get too close, any affection for her could compromise him in combat. Everything about this was wrong, so she should say no. But the problem was she didn't want to, she wanted him to kiss her – and it was his fault with his flirting and his not so innocent touching, his knowing German, the fire in his blood, his fucking beautiful mouth. "Ask me in Carentan," she told him finally, throwing all caution to the wind and not giving a damn.

Even then, the smirk curling his mouth as he leaned forward, she didn't have the patience. She moved first, demanding his mouth on hers, surprising him for a moment before his arms tightened around her; she'd never get used to that, the vulnerability of sitting in someone's arms. Or the way she felt, which was just one feeling that encapsulated every other possible feeling one person was capable of – it was madness, and irritating how often she found herself thinking of him.

He felt it too, no matter how he tried to convince himself it was just a kiss between two friends – that he wasn't actually falling in love with her. But it didn't matter then, he might've told her if it meant he could keep kissing her; her soft mouth, her warm tongue, he'd been wanting this for two years.

Winters knelt beside the tent and pulled the flap open, seeing Chris and Joe side by side with a map over their laps. "Thought I'd find you here," he told her, not mentioning that he figured Joe would be with her as well.

She nodded steadying her breathing, which was as chaotic as the beating of her heart. "Just going over the plan one more time," she told him, having barely heard the sound of his footsteps in time to pull away and straighten the map.

Dick looked between the two, who were sitting closer than even they normally did, both their mouths a deep red – he had an idea of what'd just happened, one he stared heavily at them both for. But he didn't remark on it, he wasn't entirely sure regardless. "Good luck tomorrow," he told her waiting for her to look at him to harden his eyes, seeing she knew he was very aware of their inappropriate conduct.

"Would've rather flown with you," she said quietly as she turned back to map.

Even then, with the proof shining in her guilty eyes, he softened toward her. "Me too, Chris," he told her before leaving the tent; though he stood outside of it waiting for what they'd say, praying she listened to him enough to know better.

"You nervous about jumping tomorrow?" she asked Joe looking at him to see him quietly staring at the map.

He shrugged not really sure. "I don't know, I mean it's different now that it's finally here, you know?" he asked turning to see her staring at him confused.

"No," she said shaking her head. "I don't see how it's different. We've been preparing for this for two years, it's kind of a relief to finally be going."

His eyes widened in shock. "A relief? Are you even a little worried?" he asked her seeing her shake her head. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

Dick smiled as he walked away, wondering if maybe he'd had it wrong – that always seemed to happen with Chris, he could know something happened for a fact and she'd somehow make him second guess if it were true.

…

Chris sat jostling in the C-47 beside Lieutenant Meehan as they flew over France. "I know they told you I was a medic," she yelled to him over the roar of the engine, waiting for him to nod before she continued, "but I have no problem being a rifleman if you need it."

He smiled as he looked her over, having spent quite a few days talking with her as she sized him up – and he'd been almost proud that she'd walked away liking him. "Winters told me you were our best shot after Shifty Powers. I'll keep that in mind," he yelled before patting her leg and stumbling his way up to the pilots to see where they were.

He'd been shocked when Colonel Sink told him she was a spy, and he was left speechless when Sink asked him if he would accept the order to place her life before his – a heavy order when it implied dying for her. But Sink had assured him he wasn't obligated to agree, Sobel had agreed before he'd been moved out of Easy, and Winters currently was in agreement if Meehan couldn't accept. He almost hadn't, thinking of his wife – but he was in a war and Woodridge was an important factor in it. "Yes sir," he'd answered thinking of young woman, who still wasn't even twenty, and the times he'd seen her in deep conversation with Nixon or talking easily with Winters, and how seamlessly she fit in with the rest of the men.

Even though he'd agreed to the order he hadn't actually thought he'd have to follow through – but with the red light on and the men all standing hooked up waiting for the green light, equipment check completed, and the plane nearly throwing them off their feet as Germans fired at them – he'd been faced with the choice of saving her or himself, and there was a reason she liked him; he was cut from the same cloth as Winters.

Chris stood watching Meehan stare horrified out of the door at the burning engine; she'd felt them get hit, she knew they'd die. What she hadn't expected was for him to turn to her yelling 'shit' as he grabbed her and threw her out of the plane. Five seconds, that's all it'd taken for him to see the burning engine and decide to get her out – but it was five seconds too many.

She'd reached back for him, hoping to pull him with her because she'd been the only one not in agreement that her life was more important than anyone else's, but her hand slipped down his arm as fire raced for him. And then she was falling. Falling in a sky filled with parachutes and planes and enemy fire, and men screaming above her as they fell on fire.


	7. walking through the city streets

_June 7, 1944_

Speirs walked through the town littered with dirty paratroopers, searching their faces for one in particular without finding her – not even after he saw Liebgott, who'd asked if he'd heard from her only to be left disappointed and worried when Speirs had nothing for him. He hadn't thought she'd stop on her way to Carentan, but he tried anyways. There was only one man she would've halted her direct orders for, and he caught sight of him and made his way closer.

"Hey Lieutenant Speirs," Winters greeted when he saw him, shaking his hand. "How many men have Dog Company got assembled?"

Speirs thought about it a moment, going through in his head who he'd regrouped with; it wasn't many. "Handful, maybe twenty," he answered waiting to ask Winters his own question.

"You the only officer that made it?" Winters asked watching him closely; he didn't look happy, granted not many of them were, but Speirs looked troubled; sporadically working his jaw over the gum in his mouth, eyes twitching to look around him – he looked like a man in need of something destructive to lament his frustration, a look that often translated as half crazed fury.

He watched Buck take a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and toss it to another man. "So far," he said. "Still waiting for orders. You heard from Meehan?" he asked without the patience to wait any longer.

That, Dick realized, was his problem; he was worried. "No," he answered as unhappy to say it as Ron was to hear it.

"Or anyone else from his plane," Buck added.

Dick knew from the way Speirs clenched his jaw that wasn't what he wanted to hear. "We won't hear from her til we get to Carentan," he told him, something they both already knew.

"Yeah when the hell are we getting to Carentan?" Speirs asked not looking for answer. If she hadn't given Dick a message it either meant she hadn't linked up with any of the men, which was quite likely, or she was dead – either way they wouldn't know for sure until they got to Carentan and she either met them or didn't. And even if he could, Ron wouldn't go out and find her – he just wasn't that kind of man. "You got some cigarettes?" he asked Buck.

Buck pulled a pack from his pocket and watched as Speirs left. "Hey keep the pack," he said sarcastically, not understanding the man in the slightest. "Was Chris not with you?" he asked Dick after Speirs had gone.

He shook his head; he'd wanted her with him the moment he knew she wouldn't be, and he wished in that moment that she had been – she'd still be unaccounted for but he would've at least known she made it off the plane. "She was with Meehan," he said watching realization settle on Buck's face.

"I don't think anyone outside your plane knew that," Buck told him; hell even George had said she'd be flying with Winters.

"Yeah," Dick said having figured that would be the case, "until we know anything for sure it'd be best to keep it that way."

Buck nodded his agreement, knowing most of them would sit unhappily waiting for when they'd get to Carentan – they'd be devoured by constant wondering. "Well shit," he said, "I liked that little asshole."

Dick smiled briefly as he looked around the town, seeing many vaguely familiar faces from other Companies. "She said the same thing about you," he said making Buck laugh.

She wasn't exactly friendly, but she was just pleasant enough that they thought she was; and because of that most of them liked her. Inappropriate humor, fouled mouthed, rough edged personality – she was one of the guys, someone they cursed at and with, someone who could take a punch and throw one back even harder. And the sweetest smile any man would fight for.

"She'll be alright," Buck said caught between stating and asking. He had no idea if what he said was true, but he wanted it to be so he said it.

Dick wanted her to be alright too, he wanted it more than he should – they were in a war for Christ's sake, she should be a passing thought in the face of everything else. But in that moment, that brief quiet moment, he thought maybe if he knew she was okay then everything else would turn out to be as well. "Yeah she will be."

…

Dick hadn't thought about Chris the rest of the day, what with the assault on Brecourt and then finding Nixon; it's how it should've been, she was just one of the men no more important to him than any of the others. But it wasn't true, she was more important and it wasn't only because she was their spy – he genuinely liked her, felt a need to see her alright and not just to see her alive. He'd never met someone and thought, 'I just want to see them happy, just for one moment I want to see the light in their smile reach their eyes,' at least not until he met Christine Roi; it'd taken him two years to realize he felt that way because he didn't think she'd ever really been happy.

The thought of her took him completely by surprise; he sat alone watching the town across the water burning, the smoke painting the purple sky black, the silhouette of the buildings framed by the orange glow of fire as the sound of machine guns and explosions played a melancholy symphony. He'd stared at it thinking of how much death had come from that single day, how many more lives were being lost in that burning town – he'd thanked God for letting him live, allowing himself to dream a dream of peace he might find if he survived.

Then suddenly he thought; "she would've thought it was beautiful."

He blinked surprised as he thought of Chris, as he imagined her standing half behind him as close as she could get without touching him staring at the same fiery landscape. "It's almost beautiful," she would've said.

Which was so far from his own thoughts he wouldn't have stopped to think about what she meant before he said, "people are dying, that was a terrible thing to say." And he'd look at her disappointed in her lack of compassion forcing her to look away ashamed for something she didn't understand.

He realized then he was too hard on her, and he only realized it because she was right. "Why do we find things beautiful, then, if not for the terrible things?" she would've asked him, her voice a soft breath as she stood without looking at him.

If she had been standing beside him he would argue with her that beauty was found _in spite_ of terrible things – there was nothing beautiful in another person's misery, but the way they over came it. But she wasn't there, she stood only in his mind and because of that he let himself realize how right she was. The ability to find even the smallest of things beautiful in the midst of a world gone mad, such as the color scheme of a burning town set against the twilight, made life worth living.

And of course it'd be her to make him realize it; the orphan girl who didn't understand the concept of love, who'd been trained to kill without remorse, whose emotions had been so scattered and dispersed it'd taken almost two years to find something remotely human in her – the girl who couldn't for the life of her understand the meaning of card games but played them anyway, the girl who was madly in love with Ernest Hemingway.

And he still didn't know if she'd even made it off the plane.

…

In the days that followed more men found their way back to Easy, cheerful greetings when they came – adding to the list of who was accounted for, leaving another list of who was still missing. The only person not asked about was Chris, they all knew where she was – or at least where they thought she was. There were very few men who knew she'd been on Meehan's plane; Dick, Nixon, Sink, Speirs, and now Buck. Not counting, of course, who else had been on Meehan's plane.

None of the others knew to worry, could feel the time ticking by until they reached Carentan to see whether she was dead or alive. Only Nixon was sure of her survival.

"I'm telling you, Dick," he said trying to convince his friend yet again, "division is getting Intelligence from someone _inside_ Carentan. The only person I'm aware of that was assigned to finding where the Germans were in the town and then give them specifically to us, was Chris." It led Nixon to a very satisfying conclusion that she was alive.

Dick, however, was not of the same mind. "Is her name attached to the Intelligence?" he asked waiting for Lew to answer which he didn't, and he gave the other man a hard look before shaking his head. "I want to see her alive," he told Nixon, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he saw her with his own eyes.

Nixon sighed at Dick's stubbornness to hope. "We all do," he informed him. "And I'm keeping my ears open like she told me."

He paused at that. "Like she told you?"

Nixon smiled as he remembered that conversation the day before the jump. "Yeah, she said if anything happened to make us question her survival she'd send me a message," he answered watching Dick's brows crease in confusion. "Don't be jealous, since I'm who she worked with the closest I know certain things about her 'messages," he told him.

Dick smirked almost amused. "Like what?"

"Well for starters, they're for you," he said smiling at Dick's burst of laughter. "I'm telling you, girl's alive, stop worrying."

…

But Dick didn't stop worrying, he wouldn't stop until he knew for certain she was alive; which came the day before they reached Carentan.

"I have a message," Nixon said straight to the point, far too excited to think of introducing what Colonel Sink had just told him.

Dick turned to him surprised, trying and failing to keep his hopes at bay. "Is her name on it?"

Nixon shook his head and raised a hand. "The message is her name, just," he paused to take a breath, finding he could barely speak.

"She's alive," Dick said quietly realizing from how hard it was for Nixon to form a sentence – which was unheard of for the man – that there was proof. "You thought she was dead," he said seeing then the relief in his dark eyes.

"No," Nixon said in his defense, "when I found out the Intelligence could only come from someone inside Carentan I knew she was alive."

Dick nodded letting it go. "What'd the message say?"

Nixon pulled out the paper he'd written it onto. "Colonel Sink was given the message by hand today and told to relay it to me, which meant she gave it to someone at least three days ago," he told Dick, quickly holding up a hand and telling him to wait when he saw the doubt creep into Dick's eyes. "In regard to Lt. Meehan, ask Lt. Dick Winters in Easy Company after Carentan is captured."

Dick sighed knowing what Nix would say, it meant she wanted to tell him in person – which was what it meant, but he'd been hoping for more. "That's not," but Nixon cut him off before he could say it wasn't enough.

"It also says; 'Tell Lt. Nixon to give the message to Lt. Ron Speirs in Dog Company," he said reading word for word what he'd written down before putting the paper back in his pocket. "There it is," he said smiling as Dick took a breath without a weight on his shoulders. "You should've seen Speirs when I told him, he smiled like it was Christmas – for a whole second, before he was Speirs again. I told you, Dick, she's alive."

He couldn't have kept himself from smiling even if he'd tried, because he could finally put her out of his mind – it didn't answer what happened to Meehan, but it left him content knowing she was waiting for them.

And she was waiting, rather impatiently after days sneaking around the town gathering where Germans were stationed for more than just Easy, looking for any German Intelligence, or holing up in one of the houses. She was quite ready for Easy to get there so she could find them and leave. But as it happened she was the one who was found the next day by Bull Randleman – after she tried to kill him.

* * *

_June 12, 1943_

Chris smiled at the sound of gunshots, which both meant Easy had finally arrived and that she could now locate the Germans without creeping into houses to find them. She used the gun fire to her advantage and ran between buildings, searching them long enough to not find any Intelligence before she was back on the street running to the next one.

This time she entered an occupied home, moving along the German's blind side before skating into the house. She timed her steps to match the machine gun, covering any stray creak the floor might've made as she made her way to the top floor and pressed herself against the wall outside of the door.

They never saw her coming. Her body out of sight one second, and with the next she'd charged – a bayonet through the base of the trigger man's skull and a broken neck for the one feeding the magazine. And that was that; quick, easy, both Germans dead without a sound.

She knelt beside them and rifled through their jackets, taking note of their patches and insignias – one was an officer, the other a Captain. She smiled at her luck knowing the Captain would have something on him, and sure enough she pulled out a folded map of France with a great many marks for German guns. This is what she'd been trying to find for four days, on top of pinning down where the Germans were in the town - they'd moved building to building almost as much as she had. And they had to know by then someone was in the town; she left a trail of dead bodies behind, and to make it more confusing not a shot was fired. The sound alone would've given her away if by chance she wasn't hit, and so she couldn't use her weapon or give them time to use theirs; she moved quickly, calculated down to the second what she needed to do to have however many Germans taken out before six seconds. That's how much time she allotted herself, how much she figured it would take for a mind to see what was happening and formulate the correct response. She'd had several guns aimed at her, a finger just barely putting pressure on the trigger before she reached them in time to stop them. Six seconds was enough, and a gun never went off.

…

Bull had seen the gun in the upper window of the home, had watched a man's body jolt as bullets tore through him, and then the Germans found a new target – he'd taken that chance to run into the building, pushing the already open door in further before making for the stairs.

His foot had just found a rogue piece of wood that creaked deafeningly under his weight in the sudden silence; and he froze on the stairs waiting for the Germans to find him. With his heart pounding in his ears he took another step, holding his rifle in sweaty hands knowing if there was a person in the room behind the stairs they would see his head and take a shot – he was vulnerable with little else to do but keep climbing. Holding his breath he looked over the ledge, rifle raised finger on the trigger ready to shoot if there was anyone standing in the doorway – only there wasn't.

He rounded the top of the stairs and stepped toward the room, cursing silently when another floorboard groaned under his feet, and then he stopped horribly confused at the sight of two dead Germans slumped against the window. And yet even then he held his rifle firmly, knowing someone was alive in the room – it was a strange feeling, beneath the sounds of gun shots and yells was utter silence, the kind that hung thick in the air saying there was a heart beating within it.

And so with his rifle in hand and a finger still over the trigger he crept forward, looking through the thin crack between the half open door and the frame – before his eyes flicked to the left corner of the room opposite him that was revealed as he took another step.

That was a mistake, if he'd have kept his eyes trained on that crack as he moved he would've seen the person flattened against the wall leaving just enough room between her and the door frame that she wouldn't be seen until it was too late.

He had just stepped into the doorway when the door suddenly slammed into him sending him crashing into the wall. He barely heard his rifle clatter to the floor before a small strong body collided into his own; and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back with a German straddling his chest holding the bayonet stolen from Bull's belt above their head to bring it down on his own.

Only it wasn't a German. After his head cleared and the ringing in his ears from hitting the wall died away, he saw a paratrooper's uniform – and beneath the helmet he saw a young elegant face, and her eyes were as wide with shock as his own.

Chris sat with a knee on either side of him pinning his arms to the floor, frozen as she stared down Bull – she'd almost killed him, had just barely kept her arm from embedding the bayonet in his skull. The kind, sturdy Arkansas man who always called her darlin' when he saw her; namely because it softened her normally calculating face making her coy and bashful for a moment before she rolled her eyes. She almost felt ashamed.

"Hey darlin," he said softly when he could finally breathe again.

She let out a breathy laugh before lowering the bayonet and settling on his chest, "hey," she greeted softly in return. They stayed still for a moment, a quiet moment as their hearts calmed and their breathing settled – realizing how close they'd both come to killing each other.

"You're stronger'n you look, girl," he told her taking her hand as she pulled him up.

She shrugged moving to the window wondering how many Germans were left in the town – half the buildings she'd run in had been occupied yesterday, but they were empty today. She didn't know if it was because the Company that'd been stationed here was simply running or if they'd formulated a plan; and she wasn't about to try her luck to overhear information, she'd spent the last four days moving around as silently as she could to hear anything they'd planned – it'd been the most dangerous part of the mission. And several times she'd gotten too close and was left with finding a way to kill whoever was in the room silently, which of course didn't go unnoticed because she was killing officers and someone eventually went looking for them only to find them dead – she had a very strong feeling her presence was one of the reasons why the other units had pulled out the night before; why would they stay undersupplied when they were trying to hold the city against a seemingly never ending stream of Americans, and at the same time being haunted by an unknown shadow.

Bull came up behind her, hearing heavy fire and a lot of yells from the ground. A man, he wasn't sure what company, held up one of the bottles he'd taken from a liquor store – and then his leg was blown off. Just like that, a smile on his face at the simple happiness of alcohol, and then he blinked and his leg was gone.

Chris moved down the stairs behind him and out onto the street. "Here," she said taking his rifle so he could carry the wounded man, "I'll cover you."

Bull ran carrying the man across his shoulders with Chris close at his side; she killed two Germans before he'd reached an aid station – and he didn't notice them until after she fired. She'd saved his life both times, the burly soldier carrying the crying man was as big a target as any, and so she shifted her gaze in a circle around them – over and over and over again her eyes flicked over every corner in front and behind them. Shooting one German to their left, and another she noticed the same moment he'd noticed them running past.

"Where's your rifle?" Bull asked her when they'd reached the station and she handed him back his weapon.

She shrugged looking around them wondering where Nixon would be; the German Company was dead and the town was quiet, all she had to do was find him. "Down a German's throat," she answered taking him by surprise; he knew she meant it literally, and the thought of it alone made him shake his head. "I'm gonna try to find Nixon," she told him before turning on her heel and walking away. She didn't stop and talk to anyone but to ask if anyone knew where Nixon was or where Battalion HQ had been set up – which no one seemed to have the answer for.

"You know I was looking for a nice broad."

She turned at the sound of a thick Philadelphia accent. "Hey Bill," she said giving him a distracted smile. "You know where Nixon is?"

He looked at Toye who only shrugged. "Nah, he's probably with Sink. Don't know where he is," he added before she could ask about the Colonel.

With a sigh she nodded irritably, hating the part of looking for someone. "Good seeing you, Bill," she said clapping his arm before marching off.

Bill and Toye looked after her. "I'd say she didn't care to talk to you," Toye said almost laughing at Bill's offended face.

Chris nodded, waved or straight up ignored the men who called out to her as she moved through the town, catching sight of Strayer and knowing he'd tell her where to find Nixon.

"Chris. Hey, Chris."

She turned at someone grabbing her arm prepared to tell them if they didn't know where Nixon was then they needed to fuck off cause she didn't have time to see who all she wanted before they'd be given the order to move out. "Hey," she said quietly, the tension in her arm loosening when she saw it was Joe, "you survived D-day." It was a thought that had occasionally crossed her mind the six days they'd been there, along with Speirs and Winters – they were the only three she'd spared a thought for. There were a few other men she'd be visibly upset if they'd died; George was the first there, and Bill, Nixon, and Lipton though not because she felt any particular fondness for him but because he was a good man and she didn't like it when good men died.

"I could say the same about you," he said nearly grinning at finally having an answer to whether she'd made it – and he'd worried about it a hell of a lot more than she'd thought of him. "No one's heard from anyone on Meehan's plane, I didn't know what to think."

She stood with him still holding her arm, something she was unconsciously aware of and was almost leaning against him, looking around for the man she wanted. "Yeah he's dead," she said callously turning to look at him. "That your blood?"

Joe reached a hand to where her eyes were trained before he realized what she was talking about. "No, it's Tipper's."

Without actually thinking about what that meant, only taking the time to hear that he wasn't wounded, she nodded and looked away again. "Ah, there he is. Good seeing you were alright," she said before stepping out of his grasp without looking back.

She left him standing unhappily watching her walk to Lieutenant Nixon, who smiled warmly at her. She hadn't even given him thirty seconds before she'd brushed him aside for the Lieutenant, and it upset the hell outta him.

"She doesn't have time for you."

Joe looked to his right to see Speirs watching her closely, as though if he took his eyes off her she might disappear.

"She'll talk to him then go find Winters, who she really wants to talk to, then she'll find Sink and report – and all before we ready for a counter attack," Speirs told him, explaining she had little time to spare. "She gave you twenty seconds, it might not be much but it's more than she gave anyone else."

…

"There's the lady of the hour," Nixon greeted with a smile when he saw Chris walking up to him. "You know I've heard from a few men that there's dead Germans in some of the houses, but there's no blood. And one poor guy found a Kraut with the barrel of a rifle shoved down his throat."

Chris smiled innocently stopping in front of him. "Sounds like there's a maniac on the loose," she said making him laugh. "I found this, thought you might like it," she said pulling out the map she'd found. "I don't think it's all the German guns in France, but it's a hell of a lot of 'em."

Nixon took the map smiling. "Yeah it's missing quite a few," he said watching her brows knit in confusion. "Dick found a map with all of them."

"That's great," she said almost excited to know that, it certainly made war easier when you knew where the enemy was.

"Yeah," Nixon said shaking his head, "I wouldn't tell him that. He lost a man, Hall from Able Company. He didn't take it so well."

She nodded wondering if she'd known him, the name didn't ring any bells. "That makes it not so great," she said softly.

Nixon stared at her openly surprised, his dark brows raised high. "Look at you," he said fondly, "you're almost a person." It confused her but it made Nixon smile, she was so different from the girl they'd met in Toccoa – the one who would've shrugged not seeing the importance of a dead man she didn't know. He didn't know if it was all Dick's doing, it was probably a mixture of him and how much time she'd spent with the guys; they'd changed her.

Chris stared at him with deeply furrowed brows not knowing what he meant, she hadn't realized she wasn't a person; but she shook her head figuring it was just one of the things she wouldn't understand. "I was hoping to talk to Winters," she said getting to what she'd really been wanting for six days, "know where he is?"

Nixon pointed to the building they set up as an aid station wondering when she'd leave to talk to him – it hadn't taken long. "Guess I'll see you when you decide to see Colonel Sink," he said emphasizing Colonel, who should've been the first person on her mind to see.

"You trying to say the Colonel is more important than Lieutenant Winters?" Buck asked Nixon stopping beside the two of them. "Good to see you sweetheart," Buck teased knowing she had mixed priorities when it came to Winters; having caught sight of her dark hair and made his over glad to see she was alive.

She looked up at the impressively large man; standing back to back with him he'd literally be double her width. "Stop calling me that," she told him as she did every time he did it, only now it didn't bother her, it was simply the memorized response.

He laughed as she began walking to where Nixon pointed, knowing she hated it – and he enjoyed irritating her. "You still owe me a dance," he told her, which she responded with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"What dance?" Nixon asked him.

Buck turned to him and shrugged. "I didn't meet her til a month after I was transferred to Easy. She kept telling Luz she'd meet me the next weekend but she never took the passes. I eventually ran into her and told her when she did finally take a pass out I'd get a dance out of her."

"I bet she happily agreed to that," Nixon said amused knowing she wouldn't have, and Buck shook his head smiling because she'd flat out refused. "Look at them," Nix said seeing her walk through a group of men who all smiled and greeted her, George standing forefront with the largest smile, "they didn't even know to worry."

Buck nodded his agreement having seen it'd been a good thing they hadn't known when he'd overheard several of them talking about her coming back when they got her from Carentan – they never once doubted she'd made it. "I bet you anything Joe did," he said. "She tells him everything."

Nixon wondered if Joe knew she'd been in Meehan's plane, it wouldn't surprise him to know she'd told him – the many times he'd had to explain to Dick he couldn't separate her from Joe because trust had been developed. Which is something Sink had told him a year ago, since he was the Intelligence Officer she worked closest with and knew quite a bit about her mission in the war, that by nature she would chose a man she could depend on if she'd come to need it – and she'd chosen Joe.

…

Chris smiled and joked as she moved through the guys that had noticed her, abruptly quieting and her smile falling as she made her way past the last one and toward the aid station she'd just left – having completely missed Winters.

But she found him then, sitting on the edge of a table with Roe holding his ankle. Moving past a very docile wide eyed man she stopped behind him and looked at Roe as he bandaged Dick's leg. "Well hello, I've been looking for my other medic," Roe greeted when he looked up to see her; he was used to working with her, she was quick on her feet when things needed to get done and blood meant nothing to her.

"Oh I'm sure you and the wounded have been missing me," she said looking back to the man lying behind Dick. "What with my great advice being; get over it."

Eugene gave a half amused laugh as he shook his head. "You got the worst bedside manner," he muttered as he held Winters' foot still. He looked to Chris again to see her eyes on Winters, and his eyes on her; he looked at her as though she were Christ returned, devoted and relieved.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, not realizing just how much he'd been worried until he felt the weight lift from his shoulders as he sighed.

The corners of her mouth lifted briefly before settling in their normal curve, as though she wasn't sure whether she should smile. "Hi," she breathed. Roe looked between the two not knowing exactly what was happening, only that they were two people very glad to see each other again.

"What's this?" Dick asked gently taking her hand in his own when he saw a bandage.

She looked down having almost forgotten about it. "It's a small burn, it's healing though."

Roe released his foot and moved toward her. "Let me see it," he said taking her hand from Winters and peeling back the bandage not knowing what to expect – she'd be the person who was dying and said it was nothing, he knew not to trust her word. But in truth it didn't look bad, a little pink at the most. At least until he saw the cloth beneath her sleeve, and as he gently pushed it back he realized it had been worse than she'd said. "How bad was it?" he asked turning his eyes to her face long enough for her to see he wanted the truth before he looked back to her arm as he began unwinding the cloth.

"Not too bad after I popped the blisters," she answered.

He looked up at her sharply. "It's not small if you got blisters," he told her.

She shrugged not concerned, it was barely tender now. "I found an elder plant, used the leaves. Seriously Eugene, it's fine," she told him.

His brows rose at her having used elder leaves. "That was very French of you," he told her as he tossed the cloth aside and inspected her arm; he could see the circles on her skin from where the blisters had been, many had been small but there had been a few larger ones – he knew it'd hurt a few days ago. But by then her skin looked sunburned, not too hot to touch which meant it was mostly healed, it really was fine. And he sat back down satisfied and once more began bandaging Winters' leg.

Dick had sat silently listening to the two half concerned for her and amused by how different they were; Roe took things too seriously, and Chris shrugged off too many things – they complemented each other, as Nixon would say. With her arm no longer the focus she turned back to him and he shifted himself over on the edge of the table giving her room. "Come here," he said so softly it almost made no sound as he pointed to the place beside him.

She sat facing him with her hands in her lap willing every other thought away so she could give an impartial answer. "Okay?" she asked waiting for him to nod. "He's dead."

And there was the disappointment he often felt with her, hearing in her tone of voice the callousness inside her – Meehan had been a good man, a very good man and would've made a good commander for Easy. And she'd said it as simply as she would have if she'd told him his hair was red. "So he didn't make it off the plane?" he asked her.

"No he did," she said, her voice deepening as her eyes refused to look at him. "He was just on fire when he jumped."

He took a sharp breath at the thought, how awful it'd be to burn alive parachuting – the oxygen making the fire grow, burn faster, he could imagine the screaming. And then he thought of her, she'd been helpless to do anything but hear them screaming; he saw then she wasn't unfeeling, but was _trying_ to be. "How'd that happen?" he asked knowing if he pushed her too soon she'd say nothing and leave, and he didn't want her leave. He wished they were alone, maybe walking outside in the dark at a camp because she was always easier to talk to when no one could see her – ironic enough, those were the times he saw her the best.

She looked up at him for a fleeting moment before she looked away, not wanting to see his sympathy – she wanted to go back to not caring about anyone except Speirs, it was so much easier, and she didn't know when she stopped being that person. "The engine got hit. He'd had just enough time to see it and throw me out of the plane." She didn't say anything more, she didn't have to because that sentence said it all – he shoved her out of the plane knowing he would die. They were quiet several moments, her lost in screams of agony and Dick staring at her having never seen her so conflicted and sad. "He had a wife," she said, her voice now hard and her face stoic, "and a daughter."

"I didn't know that," he said softly, not sure how to respond to her – he'd never seen her upset before.

She nodded bitterly. "I need to report to Colonel Sink," she said standing so she could escape this conversation, only she couldn't because her mind had turned more than she'd wanted and she was now left with why she was so unhappy Meehan had died – when it really wasn't about him at all. "Do me a favor," she said looking down at him. He nodded waiting for her to tell him not to bring it up again or something equally as biting because she didn't like her feelings; but she shocked him, shocked him speechless by how soft she'd grown toward him. "Don't die." Her voice was so small, almost childlike in its frailty; and then she was marching out of the door leaving him behind.


	8. is it by mistake or design

Chris reported to Colonel Sink, who was very glad to have visual confirmation on her well being so he could pass it along to General Donovan – the man she actually answered to. "Your orders are to remain with Easy for the time being, as a medic," he was quick to remind her, having been told several times she was more a fighter, he'd have to tell Winters to keep her back on the line. "Your next assignment will be given within the next few days," he told her watching her nod

"Do you have any idea of what it'd be, sir?" she asked him wondering what she should prepare for.

But he shook his head. "Not at the moment," he answered. "General Donovan did, however, arrange for this to be given to you. He said you may find it useful." He reached behind him for the rifle sitting against the wall that a runner had brought him the day before, and Sink watched her take a breath as she delicately took it from him.

It was beautiful, as silly as it was to call a rifle beautiful – but it was new; the wood was a dark bourbon, and in her hands it was heavier than their standard M-1. She knew exactly what this rifle was made to do, and she looked at Sink and happily took the small cylinder pack that held the telescope, and took it out. "Shifty's gonna be jealous," she mumbled standing at a window looking through the scope; the clarity she now had, the distance she could shoot from, the accuracy – it was magnificent.

"Shifty?" Sink asked not knowing the name. And he found himself curious of the man who'd first come to her mind at the sight of the gun.

"Darrell Powers," she clarified too caught up in the sniper to catch that he was insinuating an inappropriate relationship – which was completely sexist considering if she were a man he wouldn't've thought anything of it. "Best shot in the 506th, possibly the entire division."

Sink nodded recognizing the name. "A better shot than you?" he asked. Her weapons handling had been the first thing he'd asked to see when he was first told about her – it'd been one of the reasons he agreed to her, that and her hand to hand combat which she was even more skilled at, and of course the fact that he wasn't really being asked.

She scoffed a laugh as she mounted the scope on the rifle and locked it in, quickly kneeling in front of a window and seeing every crack on the walls of the buildings and every streak of dirt on the men. "A much better one," she admitted as she stood and put the scope back in its pack; handling the sniper with something close to reverence.

"You know a normal girl would've been that excited for jewelry," Major Strayer said having been watching her almost amused.

She turned to him with a smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. "I guess it's a good thing Christian Woodridge is a twenty-three year old man."

The Colonel cleared his throat and focused his gaze on the Major. "If the situation's dire she's to be pulled to out," he told the man, raising a stern finger toward the private watching her opened mouth close. "It's not your place to discuss this, young lady - have the last two years taught you nothing?" he demanded watching her spine straighten as she stood at a position of attention, no longer at ease or willing to speak out of turn. "Go on back to Easy now," he told her, returning her salute. He waited until she'd left before turning back to Strayer. "You're gonna have to tell Winters he'll need to be firm if he has to give that order; that girl could charm the devil if she needed to."

Strayer nodded having seen her with Nixon and the other Intelligence Officers, and especially with Sobel; she could get what she wanted with a single look. "She could scare the shit out of him too," he said seeing Colonel Sink nod his head in agreement.

…

Chris slung her rifle over her shoulder, accustoming herself to the added pack that held the scope as she walked toward the sound of George's voice. "Well I'll never have to worry about finding you guys," she said turning their heads at the familiar calm lull that came when she was there.

"She speaks," George said, his loud voice a stark contrast to her soft one. "Did you talk to Winters?" he asked, knowing without being told that's who she'd really been rushing to see.

She grinned stopping beside him. "I did," she said watching him make a face because she wasn't playing along to his teasing – it was less fun for him when she wasn't defensive, but it was a lot of fun for her to see the irritated defeat on his face. "Oh it's good to see you George," she said clapping him on the shoulder, curling a smile on his mouth as he reached a hand around to smack her on the ass.

"You too, Chris," he told her grinning from ear to ear.

Turning her indignant eyes from his satisfied face she stepped toward where Shifty sat with Buck Taylor, Floyd, and Joe. "He makes you laugh," Joe told her before she asked him to remind her why she liked Luz, something he had to remind her of a little more than occasionally. He looked her over, smirking at the swell of her breasts – what he wouldn't have given to be alone with her in that moment; he'd kiss her so hard he'd take her breath away.

He could even imagine her wide-eyed surprise when he pulled away, the look that told him exactly what she was thinking – only once before had he seen it, he'd called her beautiful before he realized what he was saying. And for a second he could see her confusion and wariness, and fear. But he'd also seen the warmth, the want – and then she blinked and he saw nothing but himself in her eyes. That was the look he wanted, the one he always wanted to see because it was only time he saw that she felt anything close to what he did.

His eyes left her chest to take in her uniform – it was wrinkled, and what he'd first passed off as dirt he realized was dried blood. And then he saw the sleeve on her arm. "You get that in the jump?" he asked watching her raise her arm to inspect what was being questioned – seeing further the singed material where fire had touched it softly.

"Yeah," she said seeing it looked worse than it was. "It's fine now," she said pulling up her sleeve to show him the pink skin, which he still wasn't quite unsatisfied with because while her skin was only a shade of pink the places her blisters had been were a dark red – and they still hurt her a bit. And they did then because he'd stood and now held her arm in his hand – unlike Eugene whose fingers only brushed against the white flesh taking care not to hurt her. She looked up at him prepared to explain calmly that it was still a little tender, and his already hot hand was burning her not completely healed arm. All words left her when she met his dark eyes, she could feel his gaze pricking her skin rooting her where she stood. She could nearly feel the way he wanted to kiss her, not the soft tentative way he had when he thought she'd been asleep, but her lips crushed against her teeth smothered beneath his mouth – the way she'd kissed him, that's what he wanted. It was too much, there was too much heat.

"Lets go first platoon, weapons on me," Welsh called as he walked toward them. "We're moving out."

Chris stepped away from Joe turning her back on him and shaking herself out of whatever stupefied haze he'd put her in to make her stand in front of the others so obvious. She walked beside Shifty, numbly answering his questions after he'd caught sight of her rifle – taking out the scope for him to marvel through, even though his eyesight was impeccable – barely hearing Welsh call for Blithe beneath the pounding in her ears.

"You're with me, Woodridge."

She looked up at her name being said to see Harry looking at her, having been told by Winters only a few minutes before she was his. "Yes sir," she answered unenthusiastically, as she did every time Winters put her with him.

Welsh nodded walking near her. "You even old enough to fight, Chris?" he asked making a show of looking her over to enunciate what he'd said – he knew the answer to that question, which was just barely.

She turned mimicking his action and glancing down the length of his body, which was a good two inches shorter than her own. "You even tall enough?" she snarked back at him.

The moment their eyes met they both grinned, a ritual having formed every time they greeted each other – one he'd started unintentionally when he'd first met her; he'd insulted her, and because she was her she'd insulted him back, and so began the ritual.

"I'm almost glad to see you made it," she told him, thoughts of Joe hiding in the back of her mind as Welsh distracted her.

He smiled as he moved to the side prepared to go to the front. "I could've gone a few more days without ya," he told her leaving her to chuckle lightly.

Taking the scope Shifty handed back to her she returned it to its case, feeling a body brush against her side and looking to see it was Joe – and all previous thoughts resurfaced and she turned away before he could trap her with his eyes.

He walked with a smirk curled on his mouth, having caught the look he'd been wanting to see. For six days he'd wondered if she was alright, worrying whether she actually survived D-Day; and it'd made him worry more when Speirs didn't even have an answer because even he knew Speirs and Winters were the only two people she'd contact – he didn't like it, but he accepted it. And surprisingly enough he'd kept coming back to the thought of whether he'd see that brief heated look in her eye again, the one that made him want to throw her in bed. It was almost funny that he still tried to convince himself he hadn't fallen for her, that he still questioned whether she felt the same when it was so obvious in her unreadably closed off way that she had.

"Stop thinking about me."

Joe turned at the sound of Chris' soft voice with furrowed brows. "That's awful conceited of you," he told her laughing at her hard eyes.

She elbowed him as they kept walking, hearing Perconte complaining to George in front of them – ' _Jesus Christ Frank I don't know, when they tell us to stop,' was George's irritable reply.  
_ "You keep looking at me," she said, having noticed every so soften he'd glance her way.

He raised a shoulder defenselessly. "You're nice to look at."

After quickly looking around for Winters, who thankfully was nowhere to be seen, she turned back to Joe opened mouth. "Wha-," she sighed shaking her head. "You can't say that," she told him wondering how much trouble they would've gotten in if Winters had been around – they certainly wouldn't be assigned to the same platoon again, that she knew for a fact.

He laughed glad he'd flustered her, he liked when he worked her up. "You're fucking beautiful," he said watching her eyes widen with his deliberate intent on being inappropriate. "And your tits, God," he breathed shaking his head.

She was left to walk trying to find something to say, something very Winters like because his voice was raging in her head on how she needed to stop encouraging this – and yet she was flattered, her ego was being fluffed and a part of her was enjoying it. "Shut up Floyd," she said looking at Talbert walking on the other side of her, who only continued laughing.

"Jesus, Chris, if you were normal you'd be blushing," he told her realizing he'd never actually stood a chance – she wasn't normal, she was crass and sometimes mean, and funny as hell; she was Joe with tits, except scarier.

There wasn't much she could actually say, except that he was right – and she wouldn't admit that she could feel heat spreading along her chest, not with Dick's voice still echoing in her head. And so she settled for looking back at Joe irritably and heaving a sigh, seeing it did little more than amuse him more. Before a response from either of them was formed the sound of gunshots had them throwing themselves to the ground.

"Contact right, get in the hedgerow!"

Chris stayed on her belly as she crawled to the line of trees, knowing standing then would only get any of them shot since they were such perfect targets. "Shit," she hissed watching a man, who'd been on his feet, fall to the ground – and something in her, after a year and half of training, clicked at the sight of the wounded man.

She barely heard Joe call her name as she made her way to him, looking up to see a very thin line of bushes was her only coverage – no wonder he'd been shot, she thought as she reached the crying man. "Ah, this would've been easier if you were dead," she muttered more to herself than to him as she was left thinking of a way to get them further left so they had more shrubbery to cover them; only the man, who she didn't know, heard her and started whimpering. "Hey, it's not that bad you're fine," she tried to tell him hoping to keep him still, except he kept trying to stand. "They can see us, you gotta sit still," she said trying to keep him down – but he continued to say he had to see him mom, he couldn't die here.

"Chris you good?"

She looked up briefly to see Eugene waiting to crawl to her if she needed it. "Yeah, if he'd just fucking stay down," she said growling the last part as she reached a hand to his head and shoved it into the ground – and in that same second a mortar exploded in front of them sending a wall of dirt and shrapnel over them.

"Chris!" Eugene yelled trying to see through the smoke if they were alright.

Three, two, one

She threw herself at the man rolling them both to the left as another explosion went off closer to where they'd been laying before – one that would've wounded them both if they hadn't moved. As it were he caught a piece of shrapnel in his leg and her helmet was torn off as they hit the ground, their ears ringing and their heads pounding as they tried to breathe.

"You good?" she asked the man beside her, her voice sounding muffled to her own ears as she shook him. His eyes were wide as he nodded, very much in shock, but otherwise still alive.

Eugene, having watched them roll to the left, crawled over to them and tilted Chris' chin up to look down at her. "You hit?" he asked looking her over for blood.

She shook her head almost flinching as the ringing in her ears became a tangible thing that was stabbing into her brain, and then thankfully it rang out and she sighed. "I think I'm good," she told him breathlessly. "Where the fuck's my helmet?"

He reached to her left and grabbed it before putting it on her head. "See if anyone else needs a medic, I got him."

She nodded glad to leave this man behind her, but she looked back him severely. "If you even think about getting up I'll come back and slit your throat."

Eugene stared after with wide eyes wondering why she found gentleness so difficult, but looking back at the wounded man he saw he was terrified of her. "You're gonna stay down right?" he asked, finding he was almost amused by how quickly the man agreed.

The sun had almost completely set when she finally made her way back to first platoon, having stopped for quite a few grazings that were easy to patch up, and then she'd found Winters.

"How are you, Chris?" he asked when she crouched near him.

She shrugged nonchalant, calm having returned to her an hour before along with a terrible headache. "Fine now," she said seeing the interest in his eyes of what she meant. She shook her head knowing he'd be unsettled if she told what'd happened. "If you find yourself talking to Sink, tell him that my being safer as a medic is utter bullshit."

He stared at her not knowing what she meant, only that something had happened – and there was a sizable dent in her helmet near her temple with a bruise to match. "Well it's good you're fine. I guess find your way back to first platoon," he told her.

With barely even a hint at a salute she turned her back on him. "Yeah I'll find my way back to first platoon," she muttered as she moved crouched low the way she'd come, leaving him staring after her shaking his head.

"There you are," Joe said when she slumped down beside him, having spent the remaining of the afternoon worried – yet again – about her. "So who was the guy you went back for?"

She sat in the small trench they'd dug glad to be somewhat laying down – her head didn't feel so light, her body not quite as heavy. It also didn't help that she hadn't slept at all the night before and so she'd already been tired. "Fuck if I know," she said taking off her helmet and feeling around her head for a bruise – and finding it the moment her fingertips brushed against her right temple. "Asshole almost got me blown up, twice."

"Jesus, by what?" Joe asked, not realizing what'd happened after he'd turned away and made for the bushes.

She shrugged having no idea. "A tank, a mortar, a fucking grenade, I don't know," she mumbled putting her helmet back on.

"Well are you alright?"

Both she and Joe turned to their left to see Smith, a rather young wide eyed man, staring at her concerned. "No, I died," she told him blandly before leaning against Joe for warmth.

Joe compliantly let her lay against him, her helmet pushed back and her head more over his chest than on his shoulder. "Hey, d'you eat?" he asked not knowing where she'd been when food was distributed.

Running a hand over her heavy eyes she nodded without moving off him. "Yeah, I think he felt bad he gave me two extra pieces of bread."

"Damn, being a woman's got its perks," Floyd said moving down the line to check on them.

She shrugged. "So's not eating since yesterday morning," she said, the explanation she'd given after shoving the entire piece of bread in her mouth. Half-heartedly she waved a hand dismissing their shit's, and Jesus', and how the hell'd you do that. "I found myself in house with Germans and I couldn't kill them without giving away my position so I hid in a closet, with a dead German. It wasn't pleasant," she said softly as she sighed, finding Joe was very warm.

"Is she gonna take watch?" Smith asked looking around the tree he was leaning against to see her.

Floyd smiled after he hit her leg, earning himself nothing more than an incoherently mumbled fuck off before she stilled again. "Nah, let her sleep," he said knowing she probably hadn't slept if she'd been in a house with krauts.

She'd slept over half the night, with Joe sitting falling in and out of sleep with an arm around her and his cheek against her helmet, when a rough hand hit her leg startling her awake. "Just checking on you, kid."

"Lieutenant Speirs," Joe said surprised to open his eyes to see him kneeling in front of them.

He didn't glance Joe's way as he continued staring at her, and she smiled as she turned to face him – her shoulder taking the place her head had been, her body reluctant to unattach from Joe. "Did Nixon pass along my message?" she asked yawning.

Ron nodded taking in the sight of Joe's arm still around her, seeing the young man was barely conscious he was doing it – Winters was right, they'd gotten too close, and he didn't think she even knew. "How are you?" he asked, knowing Meehan hadn't survived, it'd been six days with no word – what he didn't know was why she'd gotten out of the plane alive when no one else had.

She shrugged. "Well I'm not in a bed, Joe's not a pillow, and I'm wet. I'm well, I guess."

The corners of his mouth just barely curled before his lips were a straight line once more; she'd never really been one to complain, even if she was damp and cold and tired – the things everyone else was complaining about. The three turned at the sound of someone whimper; "Jesus Smith it's me, Talbert."

Chris watched Joe run around the tree to see what'd happened, though she had a very strong feeling she already knew. "You're not gonna go, medic?" Ron asked her seeing her contemplate it pitifully after Talbert called for one.

"I'll let him deal with it," she said, not even bothering to shrug as she continued watching – waiting until Eugene got there before she turned back to Ron. With a fleeting burst of energy she got to her knees and kissed his cheek before laying back in the trench ready to go back to sleep.

Ron smiled fondly at her, she was so different from who she used to be. "I should wake you up more often," he told her, the remnants of her lips still etched on his skin. "You're very sweet."

She hummed her agreement knowing only he would think she was sweet. And then another, quite sad thought, came to her. "I know what you think, about being in war," she said watching his head tilt as he waited for her to say more. "I just want you to know, I'm not ready for you to be dead yet."

If she'd said that to Dick he would've smiled at her words, at knowing she cared for him to live – but Ron's mouth didn't even twitch. She had the same view as him, they were already dead; she'd never once thought she would make it home, a thought that should've saddened him if he didn't agree with her mindset. "I'll keep that in mind if you do the same, when you're on your own." He waited for her to nod, knowing she really had no choice over what her missions would be, before he stood and his way back toward his Company.

…

They were all awake and ready to attack by 0530, waiting for the order. Chris sat in a foxhole with Joe sharing a cigarette, waiting for the call of medic after the bullets started flying so that she could go run around helping people – whoever thought being a medic would keep her further back from the line of fire was an idiot.

Joe had almost been irritated that she hadn't come when Talbert called for a medic, since she was literally two steps away; but she'd been asleep when he'd sat back down beside her, and when they woke he'd seen the bruise on the side of her head before she'd put her helmet on and hid it. So he hadn't said anything, seeing then why she'd been tired and biting the night before; her head had probably been killing her. "I just don't see why you have to leave already, I mean you haven't had any time to not be face to face with krauts," he told her, again, about her leaving them within the next few days – maybe even that very day.

She shrugged not really having an answer. "I go when I'm told to go, do whatever they tell me to do – I don't really get asked my opinion on the matter," she said not seeing the problem, it's how she'd spent much of her adolescence, being told when what and how to do things; it was second nature for her.

"Yeah I get that but still, not even a day?" he asked not knowing how she wouldn't just get burned out. "I mean-"

"Mortar!"

They both crouched low in the dug in shelter, which really didn't look like much in the light of day. "Stop pushing me down, dammit, you're the woman," he yelled before standing with his rifle.

She almost smiled having pushed him to ground then, and when they'd first heard shot the day before – both of which he technically should've pushed her down since he was a man, but she kept beating him to it.

"Medic!"

And that was her call, at least as the red cross on her arm signified. She found her way by Welsh and George and a man unconscious on the ground. George helped her move him back and out of the line of fire, which resulted in blood all down her left leg as she had the man nearly in her lap as she kept him behind a thick patch of shrubbery.

"How is he?" Eugene asked coming behind her.

She removed her hand from his neck and looked up at Eugene shaking her head, not even knowing where he'd been hit only that he was still bleeding – and she hadn't found a pulse, not that it mattered if she had, within a minute he would've bled out anyways. The two medics quickly pulled him further back before separating at two cries for their help.

Chris found herself behind a line of men, barely concealed by anything as bullets and mortars were continuously fired at them, trying to patch up a man with a bullet in his chest as best she could so he could be moved out. She poured the sulfa powder over the wound, which was thankfully closer to his armpit than his heart, and went about wrapping it.

"Keep it up!" she heard Dick yell to the men as he knelt by the wounded man, seeing the small rise and fall of his chest – and he'd looked up just long enough to see the medic wasn't Eugene as he'd initially thought. His mind had just enough to register that it was Chris before she'd turned back to the man and he'd turned to yell an order to Guarnere.

She wrapped his wound as best she could, trying more to stop the bleeding than anything else. "Get him out of here," she said passing him on to a man behind her before running once more toward the cry of medic.

This time she found another man already gone, a bullet to the neck; she didn't like finding them dead already. It wasn't just that it was a waste of time, which it was, but she came with the intention to help only to find out that she was worthless.

She'd just reached a man who'd gotten both his index and middle finger blown off, she'd pulled one of the strings woven into the netting on his helmet to tie them tightly, when she heard her name.

"Chris! Woodridge! Cover me!"

She looked a few men down the line to see Welsh standing with who she thought was McGrath and a bazooka as they ran in the field. Reaching for the scope she locked it on her rifle and moved forward, checking the angle she was at before moving further left and shouldering her way through two men before laying down and watching the Germans around the tank, taking a shot whenever she saw one.

It was easier to pin down the exact place a shot came from within a bush, get a line on a moving German, and pin down which Germans had taken note of the two men standing without cover. The first bazooka shell hit the turret but bounced off, doing nothing but drawing the aim of the man stationed at the machine gun. Which, at the vantage point she'd chosen, she could just barely draw a line on the shooter's right arm before he actually shot – and she smiled at the effectiveness of her new weapon, seeing the man cradle his arm as one of the men down the line took a shot that managed to kill him.

She took out a handful more krauts before Welsh and McGrath finally hit the tank and ran back; and she stayed just long enough to cover them before she moved back from the line and resumed her role as a medic.

Down the line she went, patching up those who could be patched up – like a man who'd been shot through the arm and into his shoulder, he'd walked himself off the line after she'd bandaged him. One man caught the explosion of a shell, one that had landed only a few feet behind her sending dirt raining down on her. It'd torn through his throat and half his face, and she'd knelt beside him holding his hand trying for the mercy Eugene tried to explain to her. She didn't say anything, he wouldn't've heard her if she had, but she stayed by his side ignoring the cries of medic for just that moment. Holding his hand firmly she watched as he twitched on the ground, letting him cough up blood that spilled warm down her neck and on her shirt, seeing the tears leaking from the eye that hadn't been burned shut. And for a moment, a short moment, her mind tricked her into seeing Meehan and she cupped the good side of his face and wiped his tears with her thumb – smiling gently at him as she reached for the small handgun she always had on her. And she gave him as much mercy as she was capable, seeing the relief in his eye, before she pulled the trigger.

…

She stayed with the wounded after the Shermans came and the Germans had gone, no longer having to rush her way through helping them because the cries for a medic dwindled until all she had left to do was patch up the more wounded of the men so that they could be taken back to the aid station.

Winters found her, after asking Joe if he'd seen her, a while later. "Are you hurt?" he asked standing beside her and taking in the blood that ran from her neck down to her breast, and then the dried streak on her leg. But she shook her head, standing still as she kept her eyes on the ground.

"Jesus," Joe muttered at the sight of the burned man, quickly looking away.

Winters looked from the man to Chris' face, which looked so confused and lost he wanted to hold her – something he knew she wouldn't allow. "Did you know him?" he asked her, receiving nothing more than the slight shake of her head. "Was it a tank, mortar?" he asked hoping to get her to say at least something.

She looked up at him with wide blue eyes looking so very young. Quietly she said, "I shot him," before look back to the dead man at her feet before surprise could register on Dick's face. He honestly didn't know what to say to her, if the man hadn't been killed immediately shooting him had been the kindest thing – but he was one of their own, and it made killing him different, harder to swallow. "He made me think of Meehan," she said looking up at Dick briefly without being able to hold his gaze, "for a second."

He nodded still at a loss for what to say; Speirs would've known, and if he didn't say anything he at least would've known what to do. "How do you feel?" he asked her, something he'd asked her occasionally before but she'd never had an answer – she didn't fully understand feelings, or at least how they applied to the thoughts that swirled within her mind.

With deeply furrowed brows she looked back up at him, staring at his concerned face and wishing she could give him an answer to satisfy what he wanted to know. "I feel sad," she told him with stark honesty, something she'd never allowed herself before except in a fleeting look that only Joe had seen. "And I don't know why."

It was clear as day in her eyes what she was feeling, and in the confusion he understood that she really had no idea why she felt the way she did – but she felt it, and even more than that she _knew_ she felt it. And for that, he still had no idea what to do.

"Come on," Joe said coming up behind her, wrapping an arm around her back and forcing her to turn away from the man she couldn't seem to leave. He looked to Winters quickly and saluted, seeing the Lieutenant nod realizing then what Nixon meant when he said she needed Joe, before he turned back to Chris. He'd been struck by the same desire to hold her, hearing in her voice she was deeply troubled by something. But he didn't, because he knew she'd tense and step away from him, she wouldn't even welcome an arm around her shoulders as a means of consolation. And so he settled with walking side by side with her, feeling her arm brush against his own naturally – something she accepted, a comfort she was willing to take.


	9. that I feel so alone every Friday night

Dick let Chris stay with Joe for the time being, knowing it was probably a bad idea considering his billet was a hotel – those two alone in a room together, he thought shaking his head. But even with that thought in mind he couldn't separate her from him, or at least bring himself to actually look her in the eye and speak the words.

What he hadn't considered was that there were only so many moments they'd have alone, because even after she opened a door to find a room – a rather cozy looking room with a bed against the wall – and both she and Joe had sat on the bed ready to go to sleep, in marched George, Bill, and Toye; and Buck, though he'd be leaving them to go downstairs to talk to Winters.

"Look, a bed," George said happily, having slept on the ground for the past week.

Chris looked up at the four men and rolled her eyes. "There's only enough room for one of you to sleep with us," she told them, not even offering the suggestion that she was sleeping anywhere other than on the bed.

Bill looked down at her with his tongue stuck unhappily in his cheek. "That ain't fair, we all know you're gonna choose Luz," he said staring morosely at the bed.

She shrugged not really caring who was on the other side of her; it not even crossing her mind that anyone other than Joe would be on her right. "I'd have offered it to you but I didn't think it would be fair to Toye since George can't keep his hands to himself."

And as if to prove her point George settled against her back resting his chin on her shoulder, smiling contently at the men who wouldn't have minded leaning against her warm back. "Let her have her boys, Bill," Buck said standing amused in the doorway. "She's been alone for six days."

Chris grabbed the two pillows from the bed and threw one to both Bill and Toye. "You can have the sheets too," she told them, something neither George or Joe had agreed on and they both stood with furrowed brows and unhappy faces as she pulled the covers off.

"You know it ain't the same without a broad in the middle," Bill told her taking the sheets from her, hoping for some sort of sympathy – any other girl would've smiled and kissed his cheek telling him maybe next time, or something else as sweet.

But Chris just looked at him and raised a shoulder. "Well that's too fucking bad, isn't it?" she asked him making him laugh as he and Toye settled down against a wall.

Joe sat leaning against the headboard and looked down when Chris suddenly laid her head over his chest much like she had the night before, feeling her body relax as she sighed.

"When was the last time you slept?"

She looked up at Buck still standing in the doorway and shrugged. "Before last night, two days," she said quietly before settling back over Joe and closing her eyes. She was exhausted, and sore, and wanted nothing more than to sleep the remainder of the night; and yet she was restless at the same time, wanting to be put on the front line just to have something to do.

"I'm gonna see Lieutenant Winters," he said standing from where he leaned against the doorway. "Let her sleep," he told the others, staring hard at George who would be the one to keep her up; but he only shook his head trying to look innocent – which was made difficult by the smirk he wore.

"They're passing out food downstairs," Malarkey said poking his head in the room as he and Muck made for the stairs.

"Jesus Christ, and we're just sittin' here?" Bill asked as he and Toye stood, not waiting for any of the others as they left the room. George was quick to follow after them, taking long enough to mess up Chris' hair before he left.

Joe pulled her off the bed, knowing she'd choose sleep over food. "Hey," he said grabbing her arm before she could leave the room, and he quickly scanned the hall before turning back to her.

She stared up at him wondering what he was thinking. He didn't give her a second to react, he knew her too well to take her by surprise and leave even a moment to react – which would end in him flat on his ass like she'd done to several other guys. It was her instinct, a reflex. And so when he pushed her against the wall he didn't give her a second before he smothered her mouth beneath his own.

…

"I don't think I can reprimand her for this," Dick told Nixon shaking his head.

Lewis sighed before taking a swig out of his flask. "You have to say something to her Dick," he said with a shrug. "She might not know better."

Dick turned to him with wide eyes. "How could she not know better than to kill one of our men, as merciful as it was?" he asked caught between being appalled at what she'd done and wanting to justify it because it truly was an act of mercy in its purest form.

Nix shook his head not as emotional as Dick was. "You remember the severity of her training?" he asked watching him pause before nodding. "I don't think they'd reprimand her for this, they probably wouldn't flinch. You know I bet she had a plan to kill Sobel if he'd still been Captain on D-day and blame it on the Germans," he said watching Dick's eyes widen. "Even if they'd found out she did it, I don't think she would've gotten anything more than a slap on the wrist if she'd told them why; at least not from the OSS. She might not know better," he reiterated.

Running a hand over his face Dick shook his head seeing Nixon's point. "You didn't see her face," he told him.

"No I didn't," Lewis said. "But even if she was the saddest girl in all of France, she won't know that Paratroopers don't do that," he told Dick firmly, honestly not knowing whether Chris knew any of this – they didn't know what had been ingrained in her, they only knew the young woman that was the result. "Now, I'm gonna go get her so you can brief her on her orders. Buck, tell him I'm right," he said slapping Buck's arm as he went.

Nixon stopped when he saw George with Bill and Toye and asked the room she was. "She should be right behind us with Joe."

He shook his head as he made for the room number Luz gave him, and he didn't even need to push the door all the way open to know exactly what he'd see. "This is why I volunteered to come find you," he said watching Joe pivot toward him as Chris brought a hand to her face sighing.

"Lieutenant Nixon," Joe said knowing very well what they'd been doing was bordering on illegal – only she wouldn't be shipped back to the states, nor would she be transferred; he would be.

Nixon gave him as hard a look as he could muster, seeing the man was rightfully worried. "Get some food," he ordered, and he waited until Joe left before turning back to Chris. "You're in love with him," he said nearly gawking at her.

She didn't scoff or laugh or offer a defensive argument, she only rolled her eyes shaking her head. "No I'm not," she said softly, honestly not knowing anymore.

He scoffed not believing her for a second. "The only way I'd buy that is if you let George put his tongue in your mouth."

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asked not understanding why that meant she was in love.

"Okay," Nixon nodded agreeing it was too vague for her, "let me put it this way; is Joe as important to you as Winters? And I don't," he was quick to say before she could interrupt, "mean to the war or your objective in the war. I mean to you, personally, is he as important to you as Dick?"

Chris stood with her arms crossed staring up at him unhappily, her mind lost in thought as she tried to understand what he was saying and how exactly it applied to her. "Dick doesn't put his tongue in my mouth," she told him, still lost as to what he was trying to make her understand.

He smiled knowing it was very true. "But you'd let him if he asked," he said knowing for a fact she would.

She knew it too; she'd do anything Dick told her – there was only one other person she gave her complete obedience to and it was General Donovan, not Joe. "I'm not in love with Dick, though," she said, the only other thing it could be.

Nixon's brows rose before he shook his head. "Yeah you are, but I'll get to that later. You still haven't answered the question," he said knowing she wouldn't, not out loud at least – she was smart enough to know never to answer that particular question. "You know you're lucky it was me that came to find you," he told her jerking his head to the door as he stepped back into the hall.

"I wasn't prepared for that," she admitted, Joe having taken her off guard – and her sense never caught up to her as his tongue ran along her teeth.

Nixon chuckled as he led her to the main hall where Dick was waiting, now alone with no one to overhear. "I don't think you were prepared for him," he said earning himself a sharp look.

He waited as Dick gave her the assignment; she would drive out in the morning and rendezvous with others from her unit for a reconnaissance operation, one she'd pose as a German soldier for. When Dick had finished Nixon gave him a look, seeing the dread in his eyes as he looked back at Chris.

"With what happened earlier," Dick said watching that strange sad look register on her face – widening her already large eyes making her look even younger than she was. He knew what he had to say, he couldn't let it go unspoken that her actions had been wrong; but staring at her he found himself once more at a loss for words.

Nixon sighed impatiently before turning Chris to him and holding her by her arms; not even looking at her as he spoke. "Look, what Dick is failing to say is Colonel Sink would be very," he paused as he thought of a word, "displeased if he found out that Private was killed by your gun."

She nodded as she looked down, something he mistook for guilt. "Don't do it again," she said understanding what he meant.

"Exactly," he said giving Dick a look – it hadn't been that hard.

Chris squirmed uncomfortably and looked at Lewis. "What are you doing?" she asked trying to shrug herself out of his grasp.

He looked down at where his hands rested on her arms and realized he'd never just touched her before; he'd brushed against her, handed her something touching her hand, but he'd never just _touched_ her. He could count the different times Dick had done this; a hand on her back guiding her the way he wanted, absentmindedly brushing a strand of hair out of her face as they studied something, squeezed her shoulder proud of something she'd done, wrapped her breasts every morning for two years. "I don't know, I thought it'd be comforting."

She moved herself away from him, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed. "Well it's weird," she told him not knowing why it felt so _wrong_ that he was so close to her – not realizing that she associated comfort with Winters and Speirs, and Joe. And of course George, who touched her too much, but he'd forced her to grow accustomed to it. "You never did explain how I was in love with him," she said tilting her head toward Dick.

"He told you that too?" he asked looking down at her seeing her nod.

Nixon looked between the two and smirked seeing they were clueless. "There's a theory that at some point in every little girl's life she's in love with her father," he said seeing Dick's confusion and Chris' irritated rolling of her eyes. "Now listen," he told them both, "you look at her like she's someone who needs guidance and teaching and to be taken care of, and that it's your job to do it. And you," he said turning to Chris, "idolize him. I've heard it in the way you speak, you do everything with him in mind. So you are the little girl," he said motioning to Chris, "and you're her father," he said looking at Dick.

Dick stood speechless as he thought of whether it was true, which is was, and Chris shook her head looking away not wanting to admit anything else Nixon was trying to make her say.

"How long has he been out there?" she asked pointing to Harry who sat on the steps outside of the hotel room, his head resting against the rungs on the railing.

Dick looked down at her. "Thirty minutes," he said estimating a round about time.

She nodded before looking around them and grabbing a blanket, leaving Dick and Nixon to look after as she walked outside to drape the blanket over the sleeping Welsh. Nixon nudged Dick smiling; "can you image the girl we met in Toccoa doing that?"

…

Joe slowly woke the next morning with an arm slung over her waist, her head tucked under his chin. It wasn't until his mind registered that her hips weren't as slender and her hair wasn't as short, that he opened his eyes to see George's face instead. "The fuck," he exclaimed sitting up shoving George away from him.

"What the hell was that for?" George asked him half asleep.

Joe wiped the remnant of George's face off his cheek. "Where is she?" he asked, though George only shrugged before laying down to go back to sleep.

"She left a while ago."

Joe turned to see Bill sitting against the wall beside Toye, unhappily reading 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and not enjoying it. She'd woken him up before dawn, well before dawn, and given him the three books she'd forced into her bag on D-day telling him to look after them until she got back.

"She tell you where she was going?" Joe asked sighing when Bill shook his head. He'd had a strange dream that she'd kissed him before whispering in his ear she'd be back when they were taken off the line – he only realized then, as he thought about it, that it was too specific to have been a dream. Which meant she was gone. Again.

…

It was Dick who woke to the sight of Chris, only she was sitting on the floor beside his legs staring at the carpet as though it'd wronged her. "Morning," he told her confused as to why she was there. She wouldn't leave for at least an hour.

She turned to look at him before turning back to the carpet. "Morning," she mumbled.

He stretched as he stood waiting for her to get up, maybe to find Joe, but she stayed where she was barely noticing as he walked toward where Nixon was. "She was there when I woke up," he told Dick before he could ask how long she'd been there.

Dick looked back at her unsettled about her leaving, about knowing the details of her objective. "How dangerous do you think it'll be?" he asked, the problem he kept falling back on.

Nixon looked at Dick and nodded his agreement. "She's an American woman who'll pretend to be a German man in a German battalion. I'd say there's a very good chance she could get caught, and she will be killed if that happens," he said echoing the thoughts that spun in her head. A look at his friend's face and he knew that was what troubled him. "You never thought she'd get so close, did you?"

But he shook his head. It wasn't that he knew she would be face to face with their enemy, it was that he was the one who'd given her the orders – he felt responsible for her going because he didn't want her to. "There's so much that could go wrong."

"And don't forget, when she finds their Captain she'll incapacitate him and then kill everyone else so she can take him prisoner," he said watching Dick's brows further crease. "This is why she was trained for torture, it's not gonna get easier."

Dick looked at Nixon briefly before turning back to Chris who still hadn't moved; she was going through German ranks, the proper way to hail them, the way they phrased their orders – she was focusing every detail, shifting into a German skin. "We won't get her if she's taken prisoner," he said seeing in Nix's eyes that they wouldn't – the moment she left Easy she was on her own. The three men she was linking up with didn't know her, didn't care about her; outside of Easy, no one cared about her. He didn't want to let her go off on her own, he wanted to lead Easy to work with her – not send her away.

Harry walked stiffly up the steps and into the main hall where Dick and Nixon stood, the blanket folded under his arm. "What are we looking at?" he asked them.

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

The 506th was shipped to England after sitting on the line guarding Carentan, and they stepped off the train in Aldbourne and breathed easily the familiar air. They'd train during the weekdays, but they'd be given weekend passes – something they were all looking forward to.

"There she is," George exclaimed when he saw Chris leaning against the wall at the station. She'd already been gone when they had made their way downstairs that day, and she hadn't formally told any of them goodbye. Except for Winters, he'd seen her off.

She smiled stepping off the wall and making her way to them, limping just slightly on her left side. "D'you miss me, George?" she asked cheekily making him laugh as he and several others gathered around her, asking how she was, _where_ she was – which she didn't tell them – and if she'd killed any krauts.

"That a Kraut uniform?" Muck asked pulling on the shirt that was just barely fitted in her bag. He held it out for them to see and looked at her. "Shit, we were sittin' in foxholes and you were behind German lines."

Toye stepped toward her curiously. "How many krauts you kill?" he asked her.

She shrugged taking the uniform and folding it back into the bag. "There were maybe forty, fifty," she answered hearing their disbelief at her killing that many herself. "There were three other guys," she said rolling her eyes.

"You kill 'em all?"

Raising a finger to Toye she told him; "if that answer is ever no, it means I'm dead," she told him wanting no one to bother asking that question again – she'd already answered it to four people.

"There were fifty of 'em and none of you got hit?" Bull asked having seen her dark braid hanging on her shoulder and he and Johnny had walked over.

She shook her head. "Two of us got hit," she said. "I just got outta the hospital, other guy was worse but he should be fine."

That shut them up as they looked her over. "Shit, you're hurt?" George asked from the place he'd claimed beside her.

With a roll of her eyes she lifted her bag on her shoulder and walked away from them, forcing her body not to show where the pain was – knowing they'd coddle her and then get offended when she hit them because they were annoying her.

Suddenly the bag was pulled out of her grasp and she turned to find Joe at her side, his dark eyes glued to her face waiting for her to tell him what he wanted to know. "The medic said I was lucky women's thighs are bigger than men's," she said giving him enough that he had his answer. "I'm sure Eugene will check it constantly."

"He does like you," Joe said, her being one of the few Roe had a personal preference to spending time with. He wanted to ask if she really was okay, wished they were alone so he actually see how bad she'd been hurt, but he kept his mouth shut knowing she'd leave him to find Winters because he wouldn't nag her.

The moment word got out, which with the men it spread almost as fast as gossiping school girls, Eugene had already pulled her aside to check her over. "Looks more like a ricochet," he said examining her leg, seeing the bullet hadn't gone too deep – which was very good for her. "You should try to stay off it."

She'd nodded diligently before climbing off the table and gently putting pressure on her leg, feeling the same dull ache that'd been there for a week. "I'll do my best," she said not knowing when she'd be sent out again. Easy might have time off, their days filled with rigorous training, but she was simply resting until given another assignment.

Easy stayed in Aldbourne for two months but Chris came and went, and usually came back with some new wound proving her operations were putting her close to enemy fire. She'd spent a week hospitalized after being shot in the arm, the bullet lodging itself in her muscle; she was lucky it was her left arm, she could work Intelligence as she further healed wearing a sling. Eugene had refused anyone else to see her; he'd cleaned the wound and stitched her up and came nearly every day to give her a bath – he knew how important it was to limit the number of people knowing she was woman, and frankly she was quiet and he didn't mind her company.

There were men like David Webster, who'd been hit on D-day and flown out only a few days later, that were worried the guys that came back from the line would be sore they weren't there in Carentan fighting when the Germans had given a counterattack. At first Web didn't understand how easily Chris fit back into the Company, as though she never actually left and had fought with them every step of the way – but the more times she left and came back just a little more ragged and bruised, he understood that even if she hadn't been with them she was fighting just as hard.

David was in awe of her, having not seen her strength with Sobel as the others had, nor having seen how difficult her training with the OSS had been. There were times when he thought she was the strongest person he'd ever seen; having found himself in her line of sight one day when she returned and helped her get to the hospital where Roe was – he'd even had to stay and help her onto the bed, seeing beneath her shirt the bruise from a boot that cracked her ribs. And she hadn't made a single sound as he clumsily helped her walk, not even a grimace. He would see that strength, that fire, all but go out in a few months – after Bastogne – but then in Aldbourne, he knew he'd never find a woman to be as magnificent as she was til the day he died.

Chris missed much of the excitement in Aldbourne, such as not being shot at or not shooting krauts; she also missed when Floyd came back. She'd left for four days and came back and he was there, and he was so glad to see her he'd given her no choice as he hugged her tightly. She even missed when Gordon returned and recited The Night of the Bayonet, though only by two hours because she'd been sent back to Easy as they were leaving the next day to go back to France.

…

"Where's Chris?" Malarkey asked Bill the next morning, a package of uniforms in hand.

Bill shrugged. "She's with Welsh I think," he said barely finishing before Malarkey was rushing away.

He scanned the sea of men hoping to spot her braid, which fit much easier beneath her helmet and so she continuously plaited her hair; but he ended up hearing George and made his way closer hoping she'd be there. Though when he saw Joe he knew she was there, she was never too far from his side. "Hey Chris," he said glad he'd found her as they were about to get on the trucks. "I picked this up when I got my uniform, I didn't know if you'd want it," he said showing her the name on the package.

_Meehan Thomas Lt._

Any mirth that had previously been on her face melted away the moment she read the name on the package. And those around her quieted as well, having learned by then not to mention his name – it put her in a mood. She'd either not say a word or she'd cut them all with her words. They didn't know what'd happened on D-Day, but she still hadn't gotten over it.

Delicately she took the package from him, holding it as though his heart were wrapped inside. Instead of holding it out in her arms she pressed it against her chest, looking as though she were hugging it, her face a cold unreadable mask. "Thank you," she told him softly before turning on her heal and walking away, just wanting to be away from all of their eyes.

"What the hell do you think happened?" George asked watching as Joe went after her.

That was a question they all wanted the answer to; an answer only Dick and Sink knew because they were only two that knew Meehan had the order to put her safety before his own. "Ain't it obvious?" Johnny asked standing beside Bull not knowing how they hadn't figured it out yet. "She was on his plane."

"Come on first platoon," Welsh called, hoping to shut them up before they said anything else. They all followed as ordered and began filing on the trucks. Joe sat beside Chris, who sat holding the package against her still not knowing how to thank a dead man for giving her her life, as they began driving.

"Hey," George said suddenly, looking at Chris. "You never heard Night of the Bayonet. Go on, Gordon tell her," he said looking to Walter Gordon encouragingly before turning back to Chris. "You'll love it, it'll make you smile."

_The night was filled with dark and cold,_   
_When Sergeant Talbert the story’s told,_   
_Pulled out his poncho and headed out,_   
_To check the lines dressed like a Kraut._

Gordon began, hearing the men in the truck around him already snickering. Joe watched Chris' face as Gordon recited it, seeing George tap her leg at something funny. He saw the moment it happened, that somehow always happened with George Luz; she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this one is, if I didn't finish it here it'd probably be another week before I got the chapter out. So this was the end of episode 3 - and this chapter has a lot of foreshadowing for not only what's to come but also for how certain things are going to happen. An example; two times in this chapter Chris was in a mood and George was the one who got her out of it - that's going to be big later. As well as her sitting beside Winters as he slept (that sounds so weird when I say it like that) So those are two things that will recur, a lot. And I guess I'll say it now, things will pick up after episode 5 because she's gonna miss almost all of Bastogne, and her not being there is gonna cause some tension with the guys; and I'm kind of excited to get to it because Chris will be at her own breaking point. I'm also excited for episode 5, it delves very deep into her relationship with Winters - as well as one Joe scene I think everyone will love.


	10. can you make me at feel at home

Chris laid on her cot with a notebook in hand as the men around her got dressed, taking full advantage of the hours before lights out as they headed to town. "You should come out with us this time," George said entering the billet she was stationed in, hoping she'd actually say yes this time – he hadn't seen her all day, he almost starting to miss her.

She turned to him and shrugged. "You should stay," she retorted. "Joe is."

George scoffed knowing Joe wasn't – he hadn't been staying on base with her lately, she kept telling him to go and he kept leaving like she said. "He's going with us."

"No I'm not," Joe said moving around George, who looked at Joe surprised – he knew Joe wanted to go, Chris knew it too. "She asked me to stay," he said answering their unspoken question as he sat down beside her.

She waited until they left before looking up at him. "I predict, in two minutes you're gonna feel like an asshole."

His brows furrowed in confused irritation. "I'm the asshole?" he asked.

With a nod she turned back to her notebook, biting back the smile she knew would give her away. "If you wanna go, you can go," she told him offhandedly making him sigh.

"You asked me to stay." It was the reason he'd stayed, because she never asked him to – he offered to stay, she'd tell him to leave, sometimes he would, but she never asked.

She shook her head as though she wasn't buying it. "You wanna go out."

"With you," he exclaimed bluntly. "I wanna go out, with, you." He'd learned months to spell it out for her if he wanted her to understand what he meant – he had to swallow his pride, give up the little modesty he had, so he could tell her exactly what he wanted. And so he was surprised when he looked down at her to see her scribbling in the notebook uncaringly. "What are you working on?" he asked slouching on the bed so he could see it. He stared confused at the little flowers littering the page; he'd expected German words, because why else would she have asked him to stay. "You haven't been assigned anything," he said dropping the notebook on the floor and turning to see her blank face as she shook her head. "So what the hell've you been doing?" he asked wondering why she'd refused to go with them for a month.

She looked over at him refusing to show anything on her face; leaving him wondering what she was doing. She realized why he loved messing with her, it was so much fun. "Well, in thirty minutes Ron's gonna come by and check on me. And then twenty minutes later Winters will start his rounds to see who's here, and we'll talk for while. Then forty minutes after that everyone else will slowly start coming back."

She dazzled him in every sense of the word; he was blinded by her – her smile, her fury, her intelligence, her drive, her simple way of showing him what she wanted. She always surprised him with what she was thinking, with what she was planning – he couldn't pin her down, and it made her exciting. "Why have you been scoping the place?"

She smiled then because he was slowly understanding what she'd done. "So I could ask you to stay," she answered softly, her mouth barely moving as she mumbled the words.

He realized then, staring at her impossibly beautiful face, that she'd spent the last month going over every detail until she had a schedule – which helped when both Speirs and Winters were punctual men. "You're flirting with me," he said making her laugh lightly.

"No," she disagreed half-heartedly, "I'm proving why you're an asshole," she said smiling as he laughed. She didn't know when or why it'd happened, but one time she'd come back from a mission and suddenly he was everything – he invaded her thoughts even when she was going over Intelligence with Nixon or Strayer, she was with Dick and his name would almost spill out of her mouth. Getting attached to a soldier in the middle of war; it was the stupidest thing she'd ever done. She was emotionally compromised, and she was consciously aware of it. That was what she thought was funniest; she knew it was wrong, she knew why too – she knew every single reason why she should distance herself from him, for both his benefit and hers. But it was too late; he was everything. "You have fifteen minutes," she told him. "You gonna sit there all night or are you gonna kiss me?"

He hesitated a moment as he looked at her, seeing a look in her eye that he only thought he'd been feeling – desire. She wanted this, him. But it was just a moment he hesitated before he grabbed her chin pulling her mouth to his – feeling the breath that left her as he relaxed completely. It was the only time he'd ever seen her vulnerable; there was no stiffness in her spine, no flickering of her eyes looking for a way to escape if it was needed. She was his. She'd do anything he wanted. Almost.

She sighed against him, her hands winding in his hair, letting him push as close to her as he could get, feeling his teeth behind his lips moving against her own. And then his mouth was trailing down her jaw, his hand moving up her side to her chest. "My answer's still no," she said softly. All the proof was in her soft voice that if he pushed her she'd give in, he knew it she knew it – and they both wanted him to. But he sighed before kissing her mouth, settling with the feel of her pressed against him; he kissed her over and over, sitting for several moments with his mouth pressed against hers catching his breath before he started kissing her again, pulling her hair loose to wrap it around his fingers. They could've carried on for days, only stopping long enough to breathe and look each other – brown eyes meeting blue ones, fire meeting ice – and they smiled gently before starting all over again.

They finally settled chest to chest, his arms around her waist and the tips of her fingers running along his jaw. They were lost in a foggy daze, the kind of drunk alcoholics drink for – every fiber in their bodies was buzzing, their minds muddled, completely relaxed, happiness with every breath.

"Are you glad you stayed?" she asked him, her voice barely a breath of moving air but they laid so close he heard her clearly.

"I mean I'd rather be home instead of in the war, but this takes second," he said making them both laugh. But he meant it; he honestly didn't know if he wanted to be anywhere else except in that bed in that moment.

She knew what he meant; she was trained for war but it didn't mean she wanted it. The only difference was there was no home for her to long for – there wasn't anything for her to look forward to going back to. All there was for her was this moment. "What are you doing to me, Joe Liebgott?" she asked him.

The answer was so obvious to him, he could see it in her eyes as she memorized his face, could feel it in her fingertips as she traced the planes of his cheeks. "You're in love with me," he said having never actually said it aloud – he'd thought it, he hoped, but he had never admitted to himself that she actually was.

She wondered if he was right, if that was the answer. "Maybe," she said unsurely, watching his brows raise in surprise at her admittance.

"Maybe?" he asked her, startled she'd actually agreed – he should kiss her more often, he thought, she might tell him anything.

She saw his amazement, his hope, and she smiled. "Yeah," she breathed, finally admitting it. Her smile was gone when she took a breath as a new thought came to her; one she'd been wondering but kept forgetting to ask. "Where do you see yourself when this is over? I mean I know you're going back to California, but, what do you see?"

He tried to think of how to answer, of what she asking. And so he told her the first thing he thought of. "A wife, and kids – a lot fucking kids," he said smiling at the thought. "And a big house,"

"For all the little Liebgott's," she finished seeing him nod laughing briefly.

He stared hard at her face trying to imagine her in that picture, as a wife, a mother; it's obvious that was where this was going, but he couldn't see her settled down. It bothered him to no end that he couldn't imagine a future she was a part of. "What do you see?" he asked her, wondering if she could see herself outside of the OSS – that was the problem, this was her life. She was excitement and adventure and danger. It was no wonder he couldn't imagine her as a housewife.

Her brows creased as she looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. "You know I'm probably gonna die, right?" she asked. They'd had this conversation once before, she knew statistically the odds weren't in her favor, but Joe had cursed at her before stalking away – they'd been fine the next day, but they hadn't talked about it since. At least not until now. "Joe?"

"You're gonna try right?" he asked instead of answering. "You're at least gonna try to make it back home? We're not talking about this again, Chris. You don't fucking give up."

"Okay," she said softly, pressing her fingers to his mouth to quiet him. He didn't know how close she was gonna get to the enemy, now that they were about to jump into Germany, he didn't know a lot of things – it was an empty promise, but she gave it to him anyways. "Okay."

…

Chris had stood in the back of the tent as Winters explained Operation Market Garden, having received the details of the mission the night before when Sink had told Dick. "I understand that you two are close," Sink told them both. "I will allow her to brief you on her objectives. Dick, you're not gonna like them. Under no circumstances is anyone besides the three of us to know the details of what she will be doing," he told them severely. "Now I understand that you have many friends in the Company," he said looking to Chris, "I don't think I need to warn you against saying too much."

"No sir," she told him quietly, almost wishing he'd be the one to tell Dick.

Sink nodded before excusing himself, leaving Chris the responsibility of telling Dick what she would be sent out for. Dick waited until the door was closed before he stepped out of attention, but even then he didn't relax as he turned to Chris to see her troubled face. "How bad is it?" he asked her.

She stood with her hands folded behind her back, releasing any excess emotion she might still have. "There are a few small missions where I will go into town to organize resistance groups," she said watching Dick nod – those were his favorite missions if he had any, she was least likely to find herself at the wrong end of a weapon; though she would be in Germany, that might make them the most dangerous missions. "There is at least one confirmed mission where I will leave Easy to link with a SOE unit for general spying. We'll pose as Germans to infiltrate their ranks and learn their Intelligence; it's estimated that will keep me from Easy for two weeks, if the mission goes according to plan."

That mission was one Dick wasn't happy with; the thought of her conversing with German soldiers, who would kill her the moment they discovered she was a woman, left him with a bad taste in his mouth. How much he wanted to tell the OSS director no, he couldn't have her, that she belonged with Easy. But he could see from the stillness in her spine that there was something else, something worse – something not even Nixon, the Intelligence officer she communicated with most frequently, was allowed to know.

"There's one being finalized, it has to be known to the last detail," she told him, feeling her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "I'll link up with a group of four men and we'll allow ourselves to be taken prisoner. We'll give the Germans false information to lead them into an ambush. I guess I'll be telling you more when everything's come together; it won't be for at least a couple of months."

Dick stared down at her apathetic face not buying it for a second; she was afraid, he could see it in the muscle in her jaw – hear it in her stony voice. "Chris," he said reaching a hand for her.

"Don't touch me," she said stilling him. It was a few moments before she looked up at him, all the answer he needed shining in her eyes. "I can't be okay if you touch me," she told him softly.

He nodded not knowing what to say; if Nixon had been there he would've said something that made her smile and roll her eyes – he was good at putting her at ease, so was George. But Dick had nothing for her, nothing but his fury at the OSS for putting her so close to enemy fire knowing she had more of a chance at dying than surviving. "You can't tell Joe, or Speirs," he told her; they were the two she'd most likely tell, especially Joe because she couldn't seem to keep herself from telling him too much.

She smiled bitterly. "They're the last people I'd tell," she said honestly. "And if I had it my way, I wouldn't have told you either. I know you worry."

He couldn't have helped the small smile that briefly curled on his mouth even if he'd wanted to, because she was right – he worried about her, far too much and far too often. "I suppose I do," he agreed seeing her mouth twitch as though to grin.

He might not have known what to say, but he didn't have to – it was the same with him as it was with Joe. George and Nixon made her laugh to get her feeling better, Bill teased her, David talked to her about Hemingway, Buck would flirt, and Bull would tell a story. But Winters and Joe, all she wanted from them was to stand near so she could feel them – that was it, that was all she asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how short this is. Life is picking up and time to write is becoming sparse; so I'm thinking about making the chapters shorter so that I can actually get them out. So this chapter was really just a, here's a cute Joe moment, as well as heavy hinting at what is coming for Chris. Again, I'm sorry it's short, but I do hope you guys enjoyed it still.


	11. if I tell you you're mine

"She's just bias cause she didn't collect the Intelligence herself," Nixon told Dick as they dressed in their tent, having spent much of last night and that morning going over Market Garden with her and the strategy behind it.

Chris stood with Dick at her back hooking her brassiere, feeling in her rigid spine this wasn't bias. "The simplicity of this operation didn't give you pause?" she demanded, having sat for two nights with an uneasy feeling not even Joe's mouth could soothe.

"Chris," Nix said exasperated, so much so he stood with his trousers not even buttoned and her without a shirt and not a single thought to screwing her in his head. "The Germans won't see this coming and we're confident that our opposition is no more than,"

"No, you're not," she exclaimed, tired of listening to the same spiel he'd been giving her. "We have no idea who we're gonna meet when we get to Holland. I'm not confident in this Intelligence," she told him, stilling Dick behind her as he listened to the two bicker. It was the first time she'd vocally admitted that she didn't like this operation; granted her rank kept her from voicing her opinion to anyone besides Nixon and Dick.

Lewis stared down at her pretty face just as startled as Dick to hear her actually say the words. "I understand your concern," he said, trusting the Intelligence where she did not. "You gathered the Intelligence for us in Carentan, you told Sink to prepare for a counterattack immediately – and now you're going in blind. It's normal to be worried, Chris."

There was so much she wanted to say, to demand – this wasn't just worry, the Intelligence was overlooking something very crucial. Getting ally tanks over the Rhine would guarantee victory for them, as they were being told; and yet they were also being told that their opposition was thought to be old men and kids. She couldn't make herself believe that the Germans were too stupid to see how important it was to guard the Rhine, and left inadequate soldiers to defend the river – that was what gave her pause.

But she turned to look at Dick seeing him waiting for what she'd say. "Yeah you're right," she said turning back to Nixon, seeing his dark expressive eyebrows raise in even more surprise. "I'm just worried." She pulled on her shirt before tucking it into her pants, preparing to leave them. "I still don't like your Intelligence, though," she said before leaving.

Nixon watched her go, staring after her confused. "What just happened?" he asked, having been prepared to argue – they did that quite often. She was never completely confident in the Intelligence, not even when she'd been in Carentan giving it to them herself; there were always parts of the message that showed her doubt, she hadn't checked a certain line of buildings closely enough to say whether it was occupied and by how many, too much time had passed and the krauts could've changed their plan. It was smart, she was cautious, General Taylar and occasionally Colonel Sink believed her to be too cautious. Nixon, however, was the only one who would listen to her – though he had little choice, his best friend was her friend, and Nix himself had always been charmed by her.

Dick turned from the closed tent flaps to see Lewis still staring after her as though she would come back and finish the conversation. "She's learning her place," he said nearly grinning. "It's a shame, I wanted to know what she'd say."

"Yeah," Nix laughed, "you and me both."

…

Chris joined the men for a brief breakfast, dodging their questions on where she'd been the night before – she was assigned Bill's platoon, which meant she shared a tent with him, if she had shown up. "I was going over the operation," she told them not quite dishonestly. She laughed and rolled her eyes at their teasing, many of them saying it was a ruse to spend the night with Winters – even then she didn't disagree; for starters she wouldn't tell them she had any doubts to this operation, that was enough cause for Sink to remove her from Easy which he very much wanted because the need for her survival was being stressed as she had a number of assignments with her name on that she was expected to perform. And secondly, it meant no one had actually caught on to her particular fondness for Joe – at least not how far it had come, besides Nixon and quite possibly George.

"Hey," she said when she saw Joe, waiting for him to greet her as she knew she was supposed to. "How are you?"

He looked over her face several moments before kneeling beside where she sat. "You're terrible at this, what do you want?"

"I know," she grumbled making him smile as he brushed the hair away from her face, surprised she hadn't put it up yet. "You're not gonna like it," she said following his eyes to where his fingers wrapped around her hair.

His brows furrowed as he looked at her, seeing her gaze fall to his hand and then turn back up to his face. "I'm not cutting your hair," he told her refusing.

"What," Bill exclaimed from beside her. "You can't cut your hair, it was the only reason we knew you's a broad. And even then, you know, I didn't think you was."

She sighed heavily shaking her head, having known Joe wouldn't want to. "It's becoming a liability. I can't be passed off as a man with a fucking braid," she said looking back up at Joe, seeing him eyeing her hair regretfully. "It was useful when I still operated as a woman, now it could get me killed."

That was all the explanation he needed to sit behind her and use her scissors to cut her hair, whether or not he was happy about it. He hadn't realized it before but he liked her hair; she was one of the few women who'd still worn it long. He'd enjoyed running his hands through it, winding his fingers in the dark strands. And he only realized it as he sat watching almost all of it wilt to the ground, cutting it to the base of her neck as she'd asked – she told him he was lucky she hadn't asked him to shave her head, which she'd honestly considered. "You look younger," he said when he turned her to see his work. And she did; her eyes seemed bigger, the bones of her cheeks more prominent – somehow she looked darker too, her face loosing its sweetness as the planes of her face sharpened.

She nodded not really caring what it looked like so long as it wasn't awful, which was why she'd asked Joe – she had a better chance of it being presentable with him. All she cared about was stuffing it under her helmet. After tying it up, finding not even an inch of hair in the ponytail, she pulled her helmet on and turned to Joe; her fingers coming up to the back of her neck feeling for hair. "How does it look?" she asked, knowing he'd be honest where the other men would tell her she looked pretty for the sake of her "feelings."

He took her chin and turned her head for any sign of her being a woman, surprised by how easily she blended in – minus her breasts, but she could wrap them again and completely disappear. "You almost look like Babe," he said before turning her to Bill. "Look at her."

Bill looked closely at her face, her sharp thin nose and her even sharper cheeks – the slight downturn of her mouth. "Christ, you do look like Babe."

She stared at him a moment before asking; "Is he the other Philly boy?" And after his nod she smiled saying; "I like him."

"I bet you do," Bill told her chuckling, "kid can't look at you more than two seconds."

It's why she liked him, he was both amazed and scared by her; besides he was very sweet, and occasionally funny. "Guess we should get ready," she said looking around them to see others slowly gathering around to put on their gear and fly to Germany; they were a morose group as they all filed together, helping the person beside them with their equipment – which was normally a replacement.

An hour later she stood with Joe behind her and David's back to her, fastening the belt around his waist and checking his chute reserve before she turned for him to do the same. The two had quickly become friends, annoying the hell out of anyone who was around them with their constant discussions about literature – all except Joe who would sit with her almost constantly leaning against him, tuning them out as everything they said went over his head.

"The Sun Also Rises is not the happier book," she said, having the same discussion they always seemed to fall back on.

David pulled her pack to force her to look at him. "And For Whom the Bell Tolls is?" he asked. "Jordan dies at the end." It was his biggest argument, that fact alone being why it was the sadder of the two books.

"Yeah but he died honorably," she said turning to face him when he'd finished checking her over. "He spent the rest of his short life doing something for the greater good of man. Whether or not he killed one of them, he believed in something worth dying for. What did Jake get other than to regret what could've been?" she asked, her argument finished, leaving him to decide which he preferred.

And he stood thinking deeply on what she was saying, thinking he would've chosen Jake's end rather than Jordan's – and Chris had made it very clear which end she'd choose. "He had the rest of his life to be happy," he offered, his decision made.

She smiled before taking a drag on the cigarette Joe offered her, breathing out a line of smoke before looking at David once more. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"

David smiled nodding, seeing she'd understood Hemingway's meaning in that question – there was no happy in the end, just the dreaming of it. Except he enjoyed the dream, he didn't think she did. "I'll agree to that," he admitted.

Chris turned at the feel of Joe's hand on her back, following his gaze to see Sobel with Malarkey. "Of all the places for him to be," she mused more to herself as she stepped closer. "Captain Sobel," she said capturing his attention and forcing it away from the man he'd been lecturing.

He tore his dark eyes from Malarkey's face to the woman who'd hailed him. "It's second Lieutenant, Private," he ground out through clenched teeth, taking it as a slight.

She met Malarkey's grateful eyes as he quickly hurried past her, before she looked back to Sobel to see the two bars on his hat and the chevrons on his uniform; she should say it was a force of habit, or belittle his fall in rank – it's what was expected from her. "You'll always be Captain Sobel," she said shocking him.

He stared down at her unsure if he was upset or touched at the remark. "Well you would be incorrect to think so, I taught you better than that," he told her forcefully, seeing the curling of a smile on her mouth.

"Yeah well, I don't see myself surviving much longer so it won't do much harm." She further left him startled with her quiet admittance; she wouldn't have even said that Winters. She was always painfully honest when she spoke to Sobel, not finding any feelings to spare – not his or her own. "As much as no one wants to admit it," she said, her voice now louder, "you made Easy the best Company in the entire Airborne." She stepped away from him seeing his brows raise and his eyes widen, turning her back on him though she still continued speaking. "You should feel fortunate you were transferred out of Easy before D-Day."

And just like that his eyes narrowed once more at her callous words for a wound that was still open and bleeding. "Why is that?" he demanded, infuriated at both her words and her disrespect to be walking away.

She turned her head far enough to see his now unhappy face, and she grinned. "I was gonna kill you."  
Sobel blinked several times before he understood what she'd said. "What did you say to me Private?" he asked, feeling that familiar sliver of ice in his blood in the face of Chris – he'd never trusted her.

"I'd have shot myself in the leg, made it look like we'd come under fire from the Germans," she further explained, proving she had in fact had a plan to get rid of the man. "Captain," she said bringing her hand up in salute before turning her back on him completely and walking away – knowing she was treading a thin line, but she almost missed screwing with him. She hadn't felt the need to prove herself since he'd been transferred, there was no one who pushed her farther than the others because they thought she was both better and weaker than the rest. In all honesty, she'd thrived under Sobel's command, as infuriated and hateful as he made her – as much as she would've killed him because he wasn't fit to lead Easy in battle. She truly missed that drive to wake up every morning and surpass his impossible expectations; it was only too bad she didn't miss him.

"You see that," Bill said pointing back to Sobel, "that's why Babe's afraid of ya."

She smiled faintly turning to the young man in question. "Babe's not afraid of me. Are you?"

He looked up at her long enough to meet her piercing gaze, one he could practically feel stabbing into his face – he couldn't help the feeling that she was seeing _through_ him, as though he was nothing to her, as though he were so simple she could see the thoughts inside his head. "No ma'am," he said unable to help himself, not even feeling embarrassed when those around him laughed. The other replacements didn't laugh, certainly not Hashey or Miller who were just as intimidated by her – there was something about a woman fighting alongside a Company of men, and not only keeping up but sometimes fighting better, that made her both remarkable and terrifying.

She turned to Bill chuckling faintly at the poor kid. "Told you I like him," she said seeing Babe blush, which only made Bill laugh harder.

…

Chris sat beside Welsh on the plane, listening to him over the roar of the engine. "Winters left it to me to tell you this," he started, unhappy to have to give her these orders when it should've been Winters himself, "but you're to stay away from the line of fire. You'll serve as a medic to the wounded that are brought in from the fighting. These are your orders from here on out."

She'd sat quietly listening to his orders, knowing they came from Sink – which meant they came from General Donovan, and were then passed to Winters. "Remind me to tell him he's a candy ass," she yelled irritably.

Harry laughed seeing why he'd been left with telling her. "I told him as much myself," he said clapping her leg, imaging the look on Dick's face when she did tell him. "They're right though," he called to her. "You've been hit more times than most of us, and you don't take half as long to heal before you go back out for more."

He was right, _they_ were right; it didn't mean she had to like it. She wasn't one to sit back and let people die, it wasn't because she wanted to save them – she was no Eugene Roe – she wanted to fight. For years she'd been training to effectively kill, and it left her nearly twitching to be kept from fighting.

Harry looked at her closely, as Dick had also told him to do, for any sign of worry or panic – Nixon and Dick had spoken in length of what would be best for her on this jump, considering how the first one had gone, and they'd decided treating it as though it were nothing might put her at ease. Nixon told Dick he couldn't coddle her, she was a medic she was supposed to be with her platoon not sitting beside him so _he_ could feel better. And so Harry had been left with making sure she'd be alright. "You okay to jump?" he asked. He watched her turn to him, seeing the crease in her brow as she stared at him.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she asked with a shrug.

Another moment he sat looking for any sign of rogue emotion before he smiled. "I told him you'd be fine," he said. "Nixon owes me twenty bucks and pack of cigarettes."

"I get the cigarettes," she told him, earning herself a sharp look. "If you made a bet about whether this jump would affect me then I at least get something for being why you won." She waited as he tried to stare her down, tried to harden his eyes and make her look away – but she stared at him unconcerned forcing him to sigh and turn away.

"Fine," he yelled to her. "I at least get three."

With a laugh she elbowed him. "You're not a good negotiator, but alright," she agreed.

He looked at her as though he were offended, though they both knew he wasn't. "Well I'm getting three, I'd say I did alright."

Her smile was coy as she looked at him, a smile he knew she was hiding something behind. "I stole your other pack."

His mouth hung opened slightly as he stared at her, having known he'd had another one. "You bitch."

She didn't last three seconds before laughter bubbled up her throat and poured out of her mouth, and Harry could do no more than shake his head and laugh with her because he often stole food from her plate.

…

Chris was almost surprised by how easily they all fell, drifting softly on the air like leaves – no fires, no screams, no death. They hit the ground, tore off the harness for their chutes, and ran like hell off the DZ to escape from the falling men and equipment. The men of Easy collected in a ditch by a road, a long field beside them bordering a town they neither knew was occupied or armed.

Chris sat hunched next to Roe listening to his soft voice going over, again, that if men were caught in fire and she remained in the battlefield aid station not to use all her supplies. "You don't know how many more are gonna come when it's over. Most of 'em won't need morphine, maybe stitches at most, but you don't wanna run out." The moment he'd heard she'd stay behind lines carrying for those that came back wounded he'd been at her side telling her the chaos of an aid station – she'd never manned one, before she'd been a medic on the line and left after the fighting was done to report to Sink; she didn't know what to expect.

"Probably won't run out of morphine, if we're honest," she said seeing his smile. "Try to soothe them, don't tell them to get over it, and if they mistake me for their mother or an angel then just go with it," she said repeating everything he'd try to tell her for the past two years.

He nodded hoping when it came down to it she'd at least try to show mercy to the wounded men; she abhorred their moaning and crying, that much he'd figured. And having treated her himself for gunshot wounds and broken ribs, she suffered quietly and had assumed others would do the same. "You know if this don't end in a fight I'm just gonna tell you all this again the next time."

She looked at him blandly and nodded. "Yeah I know," she told him knowing he was just trying to help, which she appreciated, deep down; under her irritation at sitting in a ditch waiting for what would happen.

When they were given the order to march through the field Chris left Eugene's side to trail at the back with Nixon; she wouldn't be going anywhere near the town if a German Company occupied it, there was no need for her to be anywhere but at the back of the line – and she honestly hated it. All of the people she cared enough to want to see live through the war were far ahead of her, and she was trailing behind completely useless.

She stopped with Nixon when they all crouched down, movement noticed, guns drawn prepared for anything. "What does that mean?"

Chris and Nixon smiled at each other when they caught sight of the orange sheet billowing out of a window. "Allies."

Chris walked through the crowded, cheerful, town looking at all of the smiling faces from both the Dutch and Easy Company. They sang and danced and kissed the soldiers, offered them food, waved little flags, asked for their photographs – it was a joyful noise. And all Chris wanted was to move around the people to find Dick or Nixon, who'd left her, and figure out what they were doing. Parades and crowds were not the sorts of things she particularly enjoyed, and this day wasn't a special occasion.

She walked slowly through the mob of bodies, letting hands reach out and touch her, letting women kiss her cheek thinking she was another man, let women and children hug her as she passed – she didn't stop them, there was no use in trying. So she simply pushed forward, leaving those who'd felt her breasts behind to stare after her confused.

"You not enjoying it?" a voice said in her ear.

A smirk curled the corner of her mouth as she turned to look up at Joe. Bright red lips suddenly assaulted her own in a chaste kiss before they kissed Joe just as fiercely, leaving them both with lipstick on their mouths still staring at each other. And then another round of kisses, thankfully on the cheek.

"Dank je," she said smiling at the last woman before turning back to Joe; her smile melting into a straight line. "No I'm not," she answered seriously .

He laughed reaching a hand to her mouth to rub off the red smudge. "All these people can kiss you," he said before running the back of his hand over his own mouth, "it's shame I can't."

Her lips pursed as she tried not to smile; he shouldn't be saying those things surrounded by so many people, and she shouldn't have said what she did. "That," she started, "is a parade I'd enjoy."

Joe stared after her smiling, turning his face so a pair of lips would catch his cheek instead of his mouth, surprised at what she'd said – he'd expected her to tell him to watch what he said because anyone could overhear, that it was reckless and inappropriate even though they both knew she agreed. But she'd said it, willingly admitted aloud that she wanted him to kiss her. And Christ if he didn't want to just grab her and kiss her right then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was surprised writing this chapter by how almost lighthearted it was, however I will say that it's the last lighthearted one for quite a while. However it does come with important points; such as her doubting Operation Market Garden as well as her preparing for her upcoming missions that will put her in harm's way. As well as furthering her relationships with people, cause she responds differently to different people and I have fun showing different sides of her.


	12. don't make me sad

_September 17_

Chris was removed from Easy that very night. She and Joe had barely dug half their foxhole when a runner came with an order from Sink to retreat to HQ.

"D'you get in trouble?" Joe asked. She hadn't been directly ordered to meet with Sink since before D-Day; she was always told to see Winters, who either briefed her or sent her on her way to headquarters.

With an unhappy sigh she shook her head, stabbing her shovel into the dirt knowing she wouldn't need it for quite some time – if she ever needed it again. "Don't die tomorrow," she told him, sitting on the ground as she rifled through her bag for medical supplies – brushing the bottom crinkling the package of Meehan's uniforms she'd kept – she wasn't going to just any aid station, she was getting as far back from the line as she could be without leaving Germany, she wouldn't have to bring her own paraphernalia.

Sink had warned her if General Donovan pressured her safety he'd pull her out completely – she'd been furious at hearing so, enough that she'd openly refused. Sink had kicked her out of his 'office' of course, ordering her to see Winters and tell him exactly what she'd said – earning herself a lecture from Dick, at least until he saw her face and then he'd sighed before sitting quietly beside her.

Joe watched her with a crease in his brow not liking her silence. "When are we gonna see you again?" he asked knowing from the way she was behaving she wasn't coming back to the line.

A wry smirk curled the corner of her mouth. "We, or you?" she asked knowing what he was trying not to say.

He could just barely make out her face in the moonlight; her skin was as pale as the moon moon, her hair the black sky, and her eyes the twinkling stars. She was toying with him, as she seemed to be doing frequently as of late. It was different when she didn't know what he wanted and he had explain, but she knew what he meant then she just wanted to hear him say it – and it honestly left him flustered, heat rising to his cheeks his mouth going dry. She made him crazy. "Fine, me," he ground out seeing the shine of her teeth as she smiled.

"Don't die and you'll find out," was her coy response as she stood, which didn't answer him at all but she didn't actually have one.

He stared after her wishing they were alone. "I get the feeling you're trying to say you care about me," he said watching her stop as she turned back to him.

God she wanted to kiss his wonderful mouth. She wanted it so much that she couldn't even chide herself for thinking it, not even when her common sense rang in her eyes as Dick's voice. "Wherever did you get that idea?" she asked coquettishly, the curve of her mouth lifting sweetly before she turned and went on her way to leave her supplies with Roe; leaving Joe to sit in a half dug foxhole staring after her.

"Where's she going?" Pat asked taking her place and her shovel.

Joe turned to him and shrugged. "No idea," he answered before he began digging once more.

Pat looked over his shoulder to see Chris disappear completely in the shadows before looking back to Joe. "Then why the hell were you smiling?"

…

_October 16_

Chris sat wearily in the jeep as she was driven to the town Easy was holed up. She would've been more than happy to let the man beside her drive forever if it meant she didn't have to stand again; she'd been stationed the longest in the hospital – medics came and went, as did the nurses and the soldiers, but she hadn't left for almost a month. There were days when she woke and didn't find herself off her feet until the next morning, finding the familiar faces of Easy Company who latched onto her possessively keeping her from leaving.

Hospitals were horrid places during war, more haunting even than fighting; she'd lived in a symphony of screams that sang even as she tried to sleep, acted in the plays of the dying, and bathed in their blood so thick it still painted her nails. Yet even that couldn't hold a candle to the assignment she was returning from.

She hadn't actually slept in the two months, her eyes had closed and she'd lost consciousness out of shear exhaustion, but she found no rest. There were dark circles beneath her eyes making her already thin face look gaunt; Talbert, who'd left the aid station a week before, told her she looked like an aristocrat – elegant and dark. She'd only looked at her face once and she thought she looked like drugged prostitute; she had been completely naked having her first bath in weeks as she washed the blood off her body. If she never returned to a hospital it'd be too soon.

"Look who it is," Muck cried when he saw who was climbing out of the jeep.

The men around him all gathered around at the sight of her. "You finally got outta the hospital," Perconte said smiling as he stood next to her, straightening himself to try to make them the same height – he never liked that she was taller than him. "I bet it's a relief."

"If I remember correctly," she turned to him with sardonic eyes, "you remarked on how nice it was for me to be off the line away from the fighting. That it was a good place for a woman." Her unsmiling mouth curled slightly at his bashful shrug, knowing he'd changed his mind after watching her talk gently with a man until he died. The hospital wasn't a place anyone wanted to go, and they certainly didn't wanna stay. "So where are they?" she asked, as she always did when she came back to Easy.

And because Perconte knew who she was talking about he turned to his left. "George's in there, Joe's in that one, and Winters is in HQ back that way," he said swiveling to his right.

She sighed shaking her head. "I keep hoping one of these days you're gonna tell me they're all in the same place," she said making him laugh, cause that was never gonna happen. He continued looking at her seeing she was waiting for more, only he didn't know what she wanted.

"Speirs is somewhere over there," Malarkey said pointing in the general direction of where Winters was. "Sometimes I wonder how you two got close," he mused, meeting her unamused face, "that look answers it." He stared her down for several seconds, knowing by then to give the walls she built behind her eyes a minute to break. "There it is," he said elbowing her, "look as far as you want, you ain't finding a smile prettier than hers."

She shook her head though she still grinned as she walked to the first building Perconte had pointed to. The sound of her boots in the doorway had the men turning to see who was joining them. "Just wanted to say hello before I left."

"You're leaving?" George asked as he shuffled over. "You literally just walked in the door."

Her smile was soft as she looked at him nodding, knowing they wouldn't be happy with how little time she was back before she was gone again. "I'm only here a few days to report to Sink and receive new orders before I head out. And I have," she looked down at her watch, "five minutes before I'm sent for. I was really only saying hi."

His shoulders slumped as he sighed, wishing she'd stay longer. But he'd figured out a while ago she gave them what she could. "And you came just to see me," he said throwing an arm around her shoulder, aiming to make her smile, "I told you boys, I'm her favorite."

"Uh Luz, I'm pretty sure Joe's her favorite," Floyd said smirking at her, knowing she hated when anyone actually said it.

Bull shook his head. "Nah, I'm pretty sure Winters is."

George waved a hand dismissing their words. "That's a different list," he told them. "That one goes Winters, Liebgott, and maybe Speirs. I haven't figure you two out," he said looking back at Chris to see her rolling her eyes.

"If you're gonna make a girl's fuck list you should try not to tell her about it," she said making them laugh. Even she was smiling, just slightly, as she looked at George. "And I don't wanna have sex with Winters."

He scoffed shaking his head in refusal. "Please, you look at him the way Babe looks at you."

"Hey!" Babe exclaimed, his cheeks flushing as red as his hair as the others laughed because it was true.

Chris raised her hands in surrender, seeing she only had three minutes to see Joe before she went to find Winters. "Fine, if Winters showed any interest I would be all over him," she said not realizing how true of a statement that was. "And for the record," she said turning back to George with a finger raised, "I'd fuck Babe before I had sex with you."

George stared after her almost offended, hearing the guys behind him laughing – and Babe sat smiling at what she'd said. "Is he after Speirs?" he asked, realizing he had her all wrong.

Her feet stilled as she shook her head. "No that might be Bull," she admitted, pulling randomly as George's eyes further widened and his face fell. "Oh, but if Welsh wasn't already spoken for he'd be right after Speirs. But since he is it's Bull then Babe. And that's the end of the list, you're not on it."

"Well why the hell not?" he asked, having thought if she hadn't taken to Joe that he'd have been the next in line.

She held back her laughter as she looked at him seriously. "Because I'm glad you're okay."

He stared at her with furrowed brows for several moments as he understood what she meant, and a grin spread on his face when he did. "I'm your favorite," he said realizing she considered him her closest friend – something that almost made him swell with pride.

"You are my favorite," she told him before looking back at her watch. "Dammit George, now I only have a minute to see Joe."

"Well," he said giving her a mock bow, "my work here is done."

She rolled her eyes before a smile escaped her, slapping his arm when he nudged her. She stepped into the building she'd been pointed toward and looked at the group of men lounging together. "Walk with me," she said looking to Joe before leaving the building.

He quickly followed after her, knowing she'd keep going whether he did or not. "This is starting to become a thing," he said catching up to her strides. "You're suddenly back and I come when you call."

"I can stop calling if you'd like."

"That's not what I said, Chris," he told her knowing she knew that. "You give yourself enough time to see the men that mean the most to you, and somehow I'm getting the smallest amount of your time. Again."

She sighed exasperated, not able to please everyone. "Well it's fair," she told him, rolling her eyes at his what because he should know the answer already. "Because I," she abruptly stopped speaking before she could say she thought about him more than anyone else, the tip of her tongue behind her front teeth curling around the word that would give her away – to anyone who'd overhear. And considering she was now outside of the building HQ was set up in she would not be saying anything of the sort.

"Because you what?" Joe asked wondering what she'd been about to say. "Chris," he said before she could refuse. His brows rose when she slapped his hand away seeing she was flustered, now needing to know. "What were you gonna say?"

She inhaled sharply wanting to escape in the building, but he knew her too well and he was prepared to catch her before she did. "I'm going to talk to Sink and then to Winters. I'll see you when I'm done, ask me then," she told him before turning on her heal and marching into the building.

As glad as she was to have escaped Joe for the moment, she quickly regretting ever stepping foot in HQ. Nixon had spotted her and claimed her time, asking how she was – remarking on her not looking well – introduced her to Easy's new leader, Moose. Strayer had also spotted her, though he only asked when she was leaving again. And then she'd sat through ten minutes of Sink giving her the details of her next assignment – though he'd only spoken for three minutes, the rest he sat watching her stare silently at the floor. "Go see Dick," he told her when she finally looked up at him.

Dick looked up from the papers on his desk at the sound of a knock on the door, opening his mouth to tell Nixon to go away if he didn't want to have to write up reports with him. "Chris," he said rising to his feet before his mind had caught up with his body's actions.

She smiled as she stepped away from the stairs and stood by his desk. "How's X.O. treating you?" she asked looking at the typewriter and the papers stacked on his desk. When her eyes turned back to his she saw his irritable face and grinned. "It looks boring as shit."

His face was all the answer she needed as he stood nearly grimacing. "You said it, not me," he remarked returning to his seat, moving aside some papers so she could sit on the corner of the desk. "How was the hospital?" he asked.

He'd visited once when he was close enough that Sink let him hitch a ride; she'd been holding down a man who thrashed violently, calling out orders as to what he needed, cutting into his skin to remove the shrapnel from his cheek, carefully pulling the piece that was lodged in his eye. Within five minutes the man was floating in a morphine dream and she was stitching him as best she could with the horrified Dutch nurse who'd been shaken by his terrible screams. She'd saved that man's life. He was sitting in a hospital in England with his eye wrapped and his cheek bandaged flirting with one of the nurses that very minute as she sat on Dick's desk looking at him.

She shrugged not knowing how to answer that; on one hand it'd been the worst she'd seen in the war, possibly in her life, but on the other hand the men had clung to her hand begging for her to stay and tell them of home – thinking her their mother, their sister, a lover – and she'd told them what they wanted, professing her love when they asked for it, and soothed them into a peaceful sleep they'd never wake from. "Eugene says I'm remarkably compassionate toward dying men. If that says anything," she added with a shrug.

It'd been a terrible place, for her and the other nurses as well as the men – she had turned to him when she finished patching up the man and he'd been startled by the amount of blood that stained her uniform and skin; as though someone had thrown a bucket of blood at her. It wasn't just an aid station for the wounded fresh off the battlefield, it'd been the hospital all the other units sent their men to when they needed to be shipped back to England – most of them died waiting, and she'd been there to hold their hand and watch them die. "Is it the hospital or your last mission?" he asked seeing from her face something troubled her.

A rueful smile curled on her mouth. "You're the only person who's noticed," she said almost surprised that he had. She figured Joe would've been the first, though he hadn't really gotten a chance to look at her before she left.

"You're a hard woman to read," he told her. He didn't always know what to expect with her, he'd think one thing troubled her and it would turn out to be something he hadn't even guessed. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

She looked at where he sat leaning back in his chair staring up at her patiently. "Maybe tomorrow," she replied, not wanting to ruin the peace she felt at sitting near him again – she hadn't realized how much she'd missed him the past two months. He calmed her, even when she was upset; just the act of sitting near enough to touch him settled her and she could breathe easily – he was her sanctuary. "We can talk about what's bothering you as well, if you'd like," she offered planting her feet on the floor and standing, seeing his surprise at her noticing – not even Nixon had really noticed. The pleasant look on her face turned into one of confused wondering as she looked at his desk. "Who's that?"

Dick followed her eyes to the small frame on his desk and he smiled. "Ethel," he answered. He didn't even notice that his face wasn't aflame, as it should've been; he himself had grown so comfortable in her nearness. "She would like you," he said looking up at Chris.

A breath left him at the feel of fingers gently running through his hair, his eyes falling shut at the relief of such foreign intimacy. So long had it been since a woman's hands had touched him, whether Ethel or his mother, and he could do little more than lean into her hand craving more.

She stood silently waiting for his reverie to break and for him to look up at her, wishing she was better than she was – that she deserved such a comment. But the answer was simple; she wasn't the kind of person Ethel would like, that anyone would like of their own free will. "I wish I was as great as you thought I was," she told him softly, returning her hand to her side as she stepped away from him. "I can stop by tomorrow, if you don't mind my company." She didn't give him a chance to say whether he did or not before she was down the stairs and out the door, sidestepping Nixon who only noticed her after she was already past him and back out onto the streets.

She didn't know where she wanted to go, to sit with Joe was the only answer she had – but she didn't even really want that. She didn't want to have to pretend everything was fine, to smile with the others who would also want to see her; all she wanted was silence. She was stopped by a body positioning itself in front of her, forcing her to look at him. And what a relief it was to see Speirs staring down at her with his normally placid, if not perpetually angry, face.

The moment he saw her he knew something was wrong, it was in her steady lonesome gait as she moved between people who's hello's fell on her deaf ears. "You gonna talk to Winters about it?"

She smiled for a moment before her mouth straightened into a frown; there was no one who knew her better, and she loved him as much as she did because he wouldn't ask her what was wrong. "I will," she answered quietly.

He stood waiting for her to say something, whether or not it was an excuse to leave or to tell him she was glad to see him okay; but she didn't say anything. She stood with barely an inch between their chests breathing softly as she stared at the sky above his head, her mind lost in the black vortex of her thoughts.

His hand on hers brought her eyes back to his face, his fingers just barely holding on her own as he stood staring at her closely. "If we were alone I might hug you," she told him.

He smiled briefly and nodded. "I might let you," he said in return, seeing her own smile. "Go find Liebgott," he told her, knowing that was where she was headed.

She squeezed his hand before reluctantly letting him going, seeing Malarkey and Muck standing a ways back whispering – no one understood her and Speirs, at least not personally because they'd gotten to know her and saw that underneath what made her terrifying she was actually fairly sweet. There were still rumors they were secretly married, or forbidden lovers – the kind of army gossip that would put frivolous women to shame.

No one knew, not even his parents who would've been overjoyed, they'd made a deal when she joined the Paratroopers – if neither of them were married by the time she'd turned twenty-one then they'd get married. They already planned to keep in touch for however long they were both alive, they were already closer than they should be; and if it wasn't for Joe Liebgott they very well might've been married on the chance they both survived for her twenty-first birthday. But neither of them had planned on Joe.

That's what she was thinking as she walked into the house he'd been in before, seeing George and Babe and several others had joined them because they knew it's where she was coming. She'd planned to escape to a room in the back, hoping only Joe would follow, wanting to sit in silence. But she was greeted with warm hellos, alcohol and cigarettes; and she could do little more than smile fondly as she sat with them listening to what she'd missed and who'd been hit and who'd been killed – she knew most of who'd been wounded enough to be sent to England, they'd come through her hospital waiting to be shipped out. She'd told them the few who had died waiting, she had more names and faces then the men from Easy – she'd seen almost all of their allies; French, Brit, Canadian, American. It didn't matter where they came from, they were all scared to die in the end.

"You missed a lot," Cobb said, having somehow become by far the most unpleasant person in the Company – but he hadn't always been. "The fuck d'you even do?"

"Shut the fuck up, Cobb," Joe exclaimed, his dark eyes glaring at the men who'd turned to him surprised. "She was at a hospital, what the fuck do you think she's,"  
"It's alright Joe."  
He turned away grinding his jaw, his hands balled into fists. Her voice was quiet, small, and tired. The moment she'd walked in the door he knew something was wrong; she'd hesitated before smiling, a sigh escaping her at realizing it was expected of her sit and talk to them. He knew all she wanted was a quiet room to lay in, and him to lay beside her; after two months, it's what he wanted too.

She sat against the wall with her knees curled to her chest, staring at the ceiling as she smoked. She was very aware some of the men were glaring at Cobb as Joe had been, the ones who'd been in the hospital and had seen exactly what she did, but there were others who agreed with him. Either way she was tired of this question and the initial assumption that because she wasn't on the line she'd had an easy time. "I was a medic," she said calmly, turning cool eyes to Cobb's hard face. "I spent most of my time covered in blood and talking to people; comforted the men who cried in pain, sat with men as they died." Her eyes moved back to the ceiling as she took a long drag of her cigarette, silence ringing in her ears from how closely they were all listening. "I was their mother, their sweetheart, an angel; I played my part, I read lines, and I watched them die. And sometimes," she looked at him, a queer smile on her face as if what she was saying was amusing, but her eyes were completely empty, "they died without realizing it, a smile on their face." She took a deep breath running a hand through her hair before settling back against the wall blowing smoke at the ceiling. "That's what I did."

The already half-somber mood turned more serious still as they sat watching her quietly, looking at each other briefly wondering what they were supposed to say – turning to Joe because he'd know how to handle her.

Muck nudged Malarkey and motioned to Chris. "How many people," Malarkey asked suddenly in a blind rush of courage, "were you there for when they, you know?"

She turned her unfeeling pale eyes to his kind face, blinking slowly before pulling a notepad out of her bag. They watched her sit with the cigarette dangling between her lips as she looked at whatever she'd written, not knowing she was counting up the tallies she'd made. "Three hundred and twenty-four," she answered leaving them speechless at the sheer number of deaths she'd witnessed. She smiled bitterly as she flipped through the pages filled with her pencil marks. "I even have all their names, and the day they died. I didn't always have time to tell the medical officer that day, sometimes even the next." She trailed off as she continued fanning the pages; there were so many fucking names.

Within seconds she was on her feet with the notebook in the bag and the bag slung on her shoulder. "I'm tired," she said making her way to the hall.

Cobb looked up when she stopped beside him, watching her almost meekly as she took a drag from the cigarette before exhaling slowly. He was expecting something close to the way she'd looked at Sobel, a seething hatred or fury; something that gave reason to the discomfort he felt at realizing how wrong he'd been. But she did little more than offer him the rest of the stick.

She left his guilty face behind as she trailed down the hall, picking a random door and finding herself in the dining room.

Garcia watched as Liebgott followed her, and he hit Babe's leg to get his attention. "I see why you're in love with her," he said making Hashey nod in agreement.

"I'm not in love with her," Babe said quickly, refusing vehemently as he continuously did, hearing the same laughter that came with it.

Joe found Chris sitting on the long wooden table with her bag at the end to use as a pillow. He laid himself down and smiled when she laid her head on his chest, realizing she'd waited for him to come in. All the tension in her rigid shoulders left her the moment his arm came around her back holding her against him; he was warm and familiar, it was a relief to lie against him hearing his quiet breathing. And she thought; _this is what it feels like to come home._

He pulled her against him sighing contently as he rested his cheek against her forehead, enjoying the smell of her – she was clean.

"How's your elbow?" she asked softly. He'd been shipped out a couple weeks before, she'd even bandaged his arm, and he'd just returned the day before.

And he found himself very happy he hadn't stayed with Web at the hospital in England a day longer; he might've missed this, and who knew when they'd see her next. "You were right, it'll be a nasty scar."

"You can show it to all the little Liebgotts," she said feeling him smile.

He shrugged. "You have quite a few to show 'em."

Her brows drew together as she thought of what he was implying. "You're as subtle as a hand grenade," she said smiling as he laughed. It was a nice thought, a beautiful dream, but she knew how slim the chances were that they'd both make it out of the war – that they'd both made it thus far should've been astounding.

He felt her settle disquieted against him, knowing something was bothering her – he could feel it in the way she pressed closer against him. "What are you afraid of?" he asked surprising her with how well he'd come to know her.

Reluctantly she lifted her head from his chest to lie face to face with him, remembering the cold unforgiving barrel of a gun pressed against her temple. "I'm gonna die," she told him, seeing him sigh thinking they were about to rehash a conversation they'd had before. "That scares me."

He lay quietly beside her barely able to believe he'd heard the whisper of her words; that she'd actually admitted to being afraid of anything. She was giving him her fears, her weakness – she was trusting him. He wished there was more he could do than lay with an arm around her waist.

Her mouth opened to say the words stuck on her tongue, the thing that always went with why she was afraid of dying when she hadn't been before. But actually saying it aloud, actually using the words – that was another fear all together. And if his hand hadn't moved to cup her face she might not have said it. "I love you. I really think I do," she admitted, sending the words on a quiet breath he barely heard. "And that scares me."

He could barely see her in the dark room, the moon shining dimly through the windows – but God he wanted to, to see her wide eyes so honest and open. Something had happened that much he'd realized; she'd just gotten back from her own operation, and he knew whatever had happened had scared the shit out of her. And he couldn't decide if he was happy to hear her admit she loved him or afraid because he was in love with her and he knew she'd probably die – no matter what he said, no matter how hard he tried to convince them both she wouldn't, he knew. And it left him with his own vulnerable truth. "Loving you scares me too," he told her, his fingers tightening in her hair, his thumb running over her cheek. He kissed her gently before tucking her head under his chin, thankful she couldn't see how red his face was.

…

Joe woke to Chris' gentle nudging, blinking blearily in the dark. "What time is it?"

"I don't think you wanna know," she told him softly, running her fingers along his face deepening his blinking; he still had over thirty minutes to sleep, which meant the others would still be asleep as well. "I'm gonna head to HQ, I can come back and say goodbye before I head out again if you'd like," she offered.

He scoffed halfheartedly. "You better fucking say goodbye," he told her smiling.

She laughed lightly bending down to kiss him, trailing her mouth over his cheek and down his jaw before finding his lips again; smiling at seeing he'd fallen back asleep. She sat staring down at his sleeping face for a few moments, tracing the planes of his face with the tips of her fingers trying to think of what she wanted after the war. She wanted this, the comfort of laying beside him as she slept and when she woke; she wanted to dream of a family as happy and loving as the one he dreamed. But she'd learned years ago how dangerous a thing hope was; she'd hoped to stay with Genernal Donovan only to be taken from him, she'd hoped to stay with Speirs and his family but after a year and half she'd been reprimanded and moved away from them. And now there she was hoping to live long enough to stay with Joe, and the odds had never been in her favor; she didn't know that made her a romantic or stupid.

She stepped around the bodies that were sprawled out on her way to the door and quietly opened the door before silently shutting it behind her. Breathing in the cool autumn air she walked to HQ, nodding to the few that had already woken for the day before making her way to the room Winters was assigned. He was asleep; she'd barely slept the night before wanting to escape to his room before even he had woken.

And so when Winters did wake he unsuspectingly climbed out of the bed and dressed, looking briefly at his desk before he left to wake Nixon. He'd paid no mind to the woman sitting in the corner of the room by the window, and she smiled at the sound of the door closing before she stood and climbed into his bed to rest.


	13. don't make me cry

Dick wasn't horribly surprised when he entered his room to find a small body lying in his once neatly made bed, nor was he surprised by the hair that fanned around her head like a dark halo. He only wondered when she'd snuck in.

Be it his reluctance to write up the report on the 5 October operation or his own need for the comfort he felt with her nearness, he sat on the edge of the bed staring down at her sleeping face. There was hardly a thought in his head as he reached a hand to her face, a finger curled to stroke her cheek, his mind blissfully devoid of the boy's face that had been haunting him for days. She was so still, her even breathing so quiet, that he sat beside her deaf to the sounds outside, the sounds beneath him. Numb to the passing of time. He could've sat at her side for an hour longer if her eyes hadn't opened, and even then he'd barely noticed until he felt her smile gently.

"You can join me if you'd like," she offered, her voice a soft whisper he nearly felt brush against his ears as he heard it. Her smile grew as he swallowed uncomfortably, flustered heat rising in his cheeks; yet he didn't move. He continued to sit by her side with his hand under her chin though he had looked away. "Is typing the reports really that bad?" she asked rolling on her side and curling herself around him.

He looked down at her to see all teasing gone from her face as she stared up at him, her chin resting on his hand as she lay blinking. He could imagine laying down with his back to her chest and her arm over his waist, to be the person in need of holding – she'd let him if he did, she would move further back on the cot to give him room and hold her arm out as he slid against her. How comfortable it would've been, how peaceful; he might actually sleep through the night enjoying the feeling of being held.

The moment he realized the turn his thoughts had taken he was on his feet and moving to the desk, berating his mind for how far it had travelled from his orders – that was the problem, comfort was too easy to find with her and it often strayed too close to intimacy. "You could write one up for me, I can type it out later," he said realizing he'd never answered her question.

She stared after him wondering what he'd been thinking that had him so in need of space between them, she'd have paid to see inside his mind. But she knew him too well, he didn't want to mention it and he'd completely freeze if she did. "I don't think you want me to," she told him, graciously moving around his obvious embarrassment. She met his eye when he looked back at her, seeing the curiosity in his stare. "My reports would be very simple: we came across some Germans, one of us opened fire and we continued until one of us stopped. That's it, short and simple," she finished seeing him staring at her with his brows raised and a smirk twitching on his mouth.

"They might find someone to write 'em for you," Dick told her finding himself close to laughter.

She smiled before sitting up and leaning against the wall the bed was pressed against. "They might get you to do it," she said making him chuckle softly before he thought about why she didn't write reports – she was her own Captain when on an assignment, she governed herself, she formed her own course of action. It was no wonder it'd been so hard for her to accept Sobel as her Captain, especially when he'd been so ill fit. But the answer to why she was under no obligation to give a written account of her operations was simple; there could be no evidence she existed.

He looked back to his desk and let the smile fall from his face realizing if she was killed in action no one would ever know the things she had done for their country. She was a ghost, sometimes there and then she was gone; flickering between life and death. He honestly didn't know how he felt only that he shouldn't, she was an OSS operative the dangers of her job were nothing knew to either her or him – everything was the same as the day they'd met her in Toccoa. Only it wasn't. She wasn't just a spy using Easy as a cover, someone to be amazed by and scared of – she'd become a person to them,  _their_  person. She was their friend, their sister, their comforter when they were hurt. Nothing was the same, he worried for her constantly.

"You can't keep me safe, you know," she told him, startling him by her knowing his thoughts.

She was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it he could do nothing but take the orders he was given and send her to the Germans. "I can't do anything can I?" He sat at his desk with a sigh when she shook her head, knowing that answer would never sit well with him.

With a callous shrug she reached for her bag and pulled out the book she refused to part with. "You're useless to me, if we're being honest," she told him.

He knew she wasn't being mean, he knew she didn't even mean it though it was true – but it was, in fact, the truth. There was honestly nothing he could do to change her orders, he couldn't even make her understand why he didn't want her to go; it'd been so ingrained in her mind that she was to complete her assignments in whatever way possible that she didn't know how to think for herself – the only way she knew how to think was in figuring out the best strategy to complete her mission. That was what bothered him; she was so completely loyal to General Donovan and whatever the OSS really was, that if he ordered her to lead Easy into an ambush so another unit could take out the Germans after they'd killed all American Paratroopers, she'd do it. She would hate her orders, possibly question them, and she would hate herself – but she'd follow through. And the even bigger problem was that he didn't think anyone else knew it. "Why are you here?" he asked, suddenly not enjoying having her there when all she did was puzzle him – and he still had a report write.

She looked up at him confused, not knowing what she'd done to earn that question. The answer was the look on his face as he sat in front of the type writer prepared to start typing up a report – deeply furrowed brows, a frowning mouth, his refusal to look at her. She hadn't seen this face in over a year. "You don't trust me," she said softly, forcing his eyes to her face.

He'd never realized how easily she saw through him. She hadn't understood relationships of any sort when he first met her, she still sometimes didn't, but she knew emotions – she knew how to use them to gauge a situation, and she know how to use them to manipulate people. He didn't think he had ever fully noticed how observant she was, or how intelligent. He'd been blinded by how charming her naiveté was when it came to her own feelings. "No I don't," he answered, surprised at how honest it felt.

Her smile was almost pleased as she closed the book over her finger. "You're smarter than the others," she told him, "at least about me. What were you thinking?" she asked, wondering if someone was finally figuring it out after two years.

He sat quietly for a moment wondering if he should save the conversation for later, though he knew his thoughts would trouble him endlessly until spoken of. "What would you do if you were given orders to terminate Easy?" he asked, sitting with a pit in his stomach dreading her answer.

'Lucky for you that wouldn't happen,' is what she really wanted to say; but he wasn't Joe, he wouldn't know she was joking nor would he find it funny. "Hypothetically, of course, because that's as unlikely as me being the one to kill Hitler," she told him before sighing as she thought. "I'd ask if there was another course of action to be taken."

"You'd question the orders General Donovan gave you?" he asked knowing that was the man she answered to. Though the look on her face was almost disappointed as she nodded.

It honestly wasn't that hard to figure out: she'd been training since 1936, an entire six years before the OSS was established. But not even Ron had looked close enough to see. "I would at least ask if that was the only option, and if he said yes," she added knowing he'd ask, "I'd try to bargain. There's only one of you I'd risk my life questioning orders for, and if we're being completely honest I'd probably be told no."

"So you'd kill us," he finished for her sighing heavily. It was about as sickening as he'd thought it would be, and he regretted asking. But even then he knew wasn't her fault, it's how she'd been trained – she'd been too young to remember there was any other way to live. He looked up when she didn't answer to see her staring unhappily at the floor as she thought.

She should've said yes by now, she knew the punishment that came with refusing orders. It was simple. Except she realized, like a punch to her gut, that it wasn't simple. Because she was honestly thinking she could deal with the punishment if she said no. "If you'd asked me even a year ago, yeah," she answered, seeing the surprise on his face as he waited patiently – realizing he might've been completely wrong about her. "I wouldn't have tried to save you."

His brows rose at knowing it was him she'd bargain for – and he wondered, rather suddenly, if her loyalties were shifting. "And now?"

It was several moments before she shook her head and sat back opening the book. "I don't fucking know," she told him harsher than she meant, but she was horribly confused. She took her orders and she followed them through: she didn't question, she didn't feel. She wasn't a person, she did what she was told. "Don't you have a report to work on?" she asked wanting to escape from this conversation and the thoughts it forced her to realize.

Chris forced herself to get lost in Hemingway's words instead of thinking more about how she would actually go against orders for Dick; and quite possibly Joe. She was supposed to be above this, personal feelings weren't supposed to be a factor in how well she could complete her assignments – it should've been conditioned out of her. She supposed Ron had ruined that, and his parents. They were the first people to show her what a family was, and what it felt like to be a part of one. That's what had made her the perfect agent, she had no ties to anyone or anything; they'd had her utter loyalty and trust.

But then one day in New York, when she was on an assignment, Ron had caught her in his home stealing their food and let her stay – suddenly there was a beacon calling her to return. She'd send Ron cards, telling him where she was, occasionally leaving a date and time to meet briefly.

And then she met Richard Winters. He was the one who'd changed everything, and she hadn't even noticed until it was too late; she suddenly had friends, and enjoyed having them, and she cared. And there was Joe, who she wouldn't have dared let get as close as he did if Dick hadn't opened her up. Then there was Meehan; he'd been a good man, smart too. He would've been good for Easy, possibly as good as Dick was – and she'd liked him, almost from the moment she met him. She'd reminded him of his daughter; he'd shown Chris a picture of her once, a little girl with dark hair and big eyes and a bright smile. He'd told Chris he hoped his little girl would grow up to be as pretty, and as sweet. She hadn't even known him and she still couldn't even say his name.

She was a completely different Christine Roi than the one who'd entered Toccoa. All efforts to make her the perfect agent would be rendered ineffective. They were in the middle of a war and she'd honestly consider forsaking her orders if Easy needed her – she was compromised. That wasn't a position she wanted to be in, especially when not even Colonel Sink knew where her true orders came from.

"No man is an island, entire of itself, every man is a piece of the continent a part of the main." She didn't know where Hemingway had found the poem, but it was the first time she thought he was wrong – she felt completely alone.

…

It was long past the hour for lights out before Dick stopped for the night, rubbing his heavy eyes before looking toward the bed to see Chris had silently slipping out of his room without his noticing – it's what she always did, it was habitual. Only she hadn't left as he'd assumed, not minding the dull clicks of the typewriter that he thought would've driven her away. He could still hear the distinctive ping echoing in his ears. But she lay on her side fast asleep, one hand curled under her chin and the other holding the book.

He smiled gently before reaching for it, trading her thumb for his as he held her page looking for a stray page to use as a bookmark. Though he was left with what he was supposed to do, he couldn't very well sleep beside her but he had no particular want to sleep on the floor.

So he woke her, or at least he was going to. Even in rest there was a crease in her brow, her mouth frowning, her lashes fluttering, her mind unable to find peace. He sat beside her much like he had earlier, thoughts of laying against her gone, running a hand through her hair as he hushed her.

Something had happened last week; she'd told him if no mistakes were made they'd be out in two days. Two days, one and a half nights – she was a German soldier in a battalion gathering Intelligence. She should've returned to Easy at the end of the mission, stayed with her men for two weeks before heading out. But Colonel Sink had let her go back to the hospital to 'cool off' before she returned, leaving her five days before she was shipped to a hospital in France.

It was barely a thought as he finally laid down, his hand still cupping her face as he looked at her – wondering what he was supposed to do with her. He trusted her to follow orders, his orders and the ones from the OSS, he trusted her with his thoughts, but if they were in a foxhole together when she had an assignment he wouldn't count on her to cover him when he knew the moment she saw a chance she'd make a run for wherever she needed to go. Which was one of the reasons he was glad she was a medic, and that he'd paired her with Roe so often – Roe had taught her not to leave unless it was hopeless, or someone else's hands were replacing her own. Dick had never seen as much compassion in her as when she was with wounded men; even when she huffed irritably and told them to get over it she still showed grace in how she cared for them, refusing to leave their side until she knew they wouldn't die.

For all of the things he saw in her that unsettled him, disappointed him, frustrated and scared him, he couldn't deny there were parts of her that were simply amazing.

"I know you don't see it," he said softly as he brushed the hair away from her sleeping face, "but you're better than you think you are."

…

Their next few days moved quietly by. It was a peaceful quiet for Chris, not having to disguise her unhappiness for the sake of the men who expected to have fun with her after so many weeks being away, Dick allowed her to sit and contemplate or to just sit and refuse to think – he didn't expect anything from her. As peaceful as it was for her, it was an unsettling quiet for Dick as he played through his mind over and again what had happened, the face of the young German boy haunting him.

Several times Chris would take note of him staring at nothing, his mind deeply lost. So far submerged in his thoughts, he didn't notice the sound of her quiet steps on the floor, her silhouette moving in his line of sight. He didn't notice her until she stopped behind him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, resting her cheek on the top of his head. A breath would leave him at the feel of her, at the need for a woman's gentle soothing touch, and he'd sit for a moment with a hand wrapped around her wrist before he'd sigh and continue. More often than not the moment his hand released her she'd straighten and sit back on the bed, or by the window, thoughtlessly having offered comfort – giving him what she always took. One day she'd spoken, in her light airy voice.

"Today is only one day in all the days that will ever be. But what will happen in all the other days that ever come can depend on what you do today. It's been that way all this year. It's been that way so many times. All of war is that way."

He'd looked up at her not only surprised by the sound of her voice, which he barely heard through the day as she sat silently to not interrupt his thoughts, but also by how easily she had read him once again. She'd smiled gently as she returned to a chair by the window, knowing something had happened on October 5th that had greatly upset him. "It's a good book," she said, not asking what was troubling him – just as he didn't ask her.

It was a comfort to them both, to be able to sit in a room without having to worry about answering questions or curious glances, they could sit unhappily together drawing comfort where it came.

Nixon ruptured the silence, often as a welcomed relief, occasionally as an annoyance. He'd come in, sit beside her on the bed, and look at Dick curiously knowing she hadn't left his room after the first day she'd gotten there. He came in one day with Welsh, another welcome surprise because both she and Dick liked the little man.

"Well hello, Chris," Welsh said when he climbed the stairs to see Chris was wearing nothing but a shirt, possibly Dick's, with only one button done so that it covered her just enough to keep her from being nude. She'd done it for Dick's sake, he'd flushed bright red when he looked up from the typewriter to see her naked, and she rolled her eyes before grabbing the first shirt she'd seen. The result was one of the sleeves hanging off her slender shoulder nearly showing her breast, and both Welsh and Nixon enjoyed the sight. Until they saw she was shaving her normally lovely long legs. "And what d'you know, my lust for you is gone."

She smiled as she ran the razor up one spot on her leg before wiping the cream she'd taken from Dick on a rag and continuing again. "I do what I can."

Nixon stared down at her agreeing with Welsh, there was nothing attractive watching a woman shave the hair off her legs. "Maybe you should shave in front of Joe," he suggested.

"I do," she told him shrugging.

Welsh and Nixon looked at each other surprised. "And he still thinks you're beautiful?"

Her hand stilled as she looked at them wondering what was wrong with them. "I've been doing this since Toccoa, most of the guys have watched me shave my legs. Besides it's fair," she told them before continuing. "D'you know how many times I've watched your white asses shitting in holes? I can shave my damn legs."

Welsh turned to Nixon and shrugged. "She's gotta point," he admitted.

Nixon shook his head letting it go, the shirt was very close to dropping too low and standing over her he could just barely see down it. He brushed his knuckles against her collarbone, feeling the warmth of her soft skin.

With an almost sweet look she turned her face to him. "I like you," she told him, curling a wide grin on his mouth.

"Yeah?"

She hummed her agreement as she continued staring up at him. "Do that again, and I'll cut your penis off and feed to you," she told him, her voice deepening in a seductive purr. It was an idle threat, at most she'd break his wrist, but she was satisfied when his eyes widened as he took a step back.

He looked at Dick not knowing what to do, because he could so clearly imagine her doing it – and he honestly thought she might be the most provocative woman he knew.

Welsh looked between Nixon's startled eyes and Dick's grinning face, and Chris' nonchalance as she began spreading the shaving cream on her other leg. It was almost like they were back in Toccoa.

…

_Two days later_

Nixon joined Dick and Chris in a spare moment of reprieve, sitting beside her on the bed as she read. "You know I'm surprised Sobel never made you get rid of that," he said looking at the large book in her hands.

A wry smirk curled the corners of her mouth. "I made an impassioned speech on the necessity of Ernest Hemingway's words to my survival."

He laughed shaking his head at how she'd somehow always gotten her way with the man. "I think you might've been his favorite," he told her. "And the one he hated most."

She chuckled with him. "All wrapped up in one," she finished, all three knowing it was true.

Dick watched the two talk, seeing Nixon's eyes rarely leaving her face as she asked him about the Intelligence of Operation Pegasus. Lew had come looking for the whiskey in his footlocker, as he normally did, his flask was in his pocket ready to be refilled. But Nixon hadn't even looked at the locker, he was too busy answering her questions – and she had several. Normally being the one who gathered the Intelligence, she knew exactly what to ask and there was no appeasing her. They either had every detail ground down into something fine, or she was unhappy with it. And so Nix sat going over every detail, explaining further where he normally had no need – enjoying how thorough she was, how impressed she was with his assured answers. She'd completely distracted him from what he'd wanted, and she'd kept him distracted until he'd left the home Dick occupied and was on his way back to HQ. And he'd forced himself to agree that he could last the day without a drink, knowing if he came in after eight he had a good chance of her being asleep – he didn't think he was able to go back and know she was watching as he refilled his flask. She was so young, so observant, so close to her own dependency on cigarettes to get through the day; he almost felt ashamed by the thought of her seeing it.

And so hours later when Dick said enter and he climbed the stairs, Nixon almost breathed a sigh of relief to see her laying facing the wall unmoving. It wasn't until he made to leave, his flask refilled and the taste of whiskey blissfully on his tongue, that a thought came to him. "Where've you been sleeping?" he asked, realizing he'd never seen any sign that Dick slept anywhere but in the bed. Dick looked up from the letters he'd typed out, looking for mistakes, and turned toward the bed. "It's a cot, Dick. You both don't fit."

"No we don't," Dick told him dryly.

Lewis chuckled disbelieving as he walked to the bed, pulling the hair away from her face to see her closed eyes, a finger twitching briefly before she settled completely still. When he was satisfied that she was sleeping he turned back to Dick. "What's she doing here?" he asked quietly. She left the day after tomorrow, and as far as he knew she'd only seen Joe that one night – he didn't understand why she wasn't with him, or why Joe hadn't come looking for her.

Dick looked over at her almost waiting for her to turn and look at him waiting for his answer. "Is she asleep?" he mouthed, waiting as Lewis bent down to listen to her breathing, looking for the fluttering of her lashes that came with sleep. "I think she's hiding," Dick answered when Nixon had righted himself.

He nodded having wondering if that might be the reason. "Sink said her mission hadn't gone as planned, that something had happened with the other guy she'd linked up with."

After a moment of contemplation, and hesitation, Dick looked up at him confused. "She was supposed to link up with a unit of three men to infiltrate the German camp," he commented, finding pause at the difference in her report from the orders she'd been given.

Nixon looked down at her again to see she hadn't woken before turning to his friend. "Two of the men were killed before the mission and it was decided that two operatives had a better chance of blending in undetected, and so they stuck with it. At least, that's what she told Sink."

"You don't believe her?" Dick asked watching as he looked down at her, again to assure himself that she was still sleeping.

He couldn't shake the feeling that she was listening, that the moment he said what he did she'd sit up and warn him not to speak another word. He walked closer to where Dick sat and lowered his voice, glancing over his shoulder almost expecting her to have turned to him. "Many of her orders are encrypted, greatly limiting the number of people who know of the operation, and forcing her to translate them to Sink," he told Dick hushedly, feeling an excitement at knowing he'd discovered something. "Sink entrusted to me the codes she's been given to see if anything starts coming together. Well I noticed that two of them were the same, but the objective she gave Sink was different," he said watching Dick's brows furrow as he thought of what that meant.

"It could be the place, or the details," Dick offered, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

But Nixon knew it wasn't. "Black Sun, I've seen that twice – what comes next are random numbers I never understood. But then I got the idea they were coordinates and the date the time, and I think it is: where to meet, when to meet, and I think the last few digits are the assigned code for the actual operation."

Dick listened to him closely looking for whatever had stood out to Lew, for any inconsistencies. "I'm not following."

After casting another glance back at Chris he continued, knowing he was treading dangerous waters. "Black Sun was her first mission," he told Dick, who remembered her orders had been to infiltrate a camp and take their commander prisoner. "The one she just returned from was also Black Sun." Lewis waited as Dick understood what he was saying – the orders didn't match. There was a very large difference between killing an entire Company and simply gathering Intelligence. He waited until Dick looked back up at him unsure whether he wanted to hear what Nixon would say next. "I think she's been lying to us."

"That's a heavy accusation, Nix," he told him, although it made him wonder – there were many details that didn't add up when it came to her. "Have you told Sink?"

"No," Nixon answered with a shake of his head, "and I'm not sure I will." He saw Dick's wondering confusion at that and leaned closer. "I don't think she's OSS," he admitted, finally telling Dick what he'd been wondering for weeks, watching Dick's eyes widen. "It was established two years ago," he told Dick, "she's been trained since she was eleven."

Dick sat back wondering how he'd missed that when it'd been under their noses for two years. "Who does she work for then?"

That was where Nixon was stuck, and the only way he'd figure it out was if she told him. And so he could only shrug. "But it's kind of brilliant," he said. "She has a cover  _for_ her cover. Anyway," he said waving his hands as though to clear their tangible thoughts, "it's just a theory for the moment. But it's a good one," he added before stepping away from the desk and toward the bed. "It makes you wonder what she was doing," he said running his fingers down her back, kind of wishing she was awake so she'd tell them what was bothering her. He stood over her a few moments more before patting her hip and stepping away, bidding Dick a good night.

He left Dick with a confused mind, his thoughts so muddled he sat for ten minutes staring at blurred words unable to focus on them. And so with a sigh he stood and blew the candles out before making his way to the bed. Even though he expected it he was still surprised at her turning to him when he laid beside her, realizing she'd probably woken the moment Nixon had knocked.

They laid staring at one another, barely able to see the glistening of the others eyes in the moonlight, but darkness had always made her more honest. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," she offered coyly, catching the rolling of his eyes. She waited as he contemplated whether he wanted to talk about it, pressing her back against the wall to give him more room when he rolled on his side to face her. They laid nose to nose quietly for several moments, both wanting to talk but both too prideful to admit they were effected. "October 5th," she started for him, having watched him open his mouth several times without saying anything.

He sighed nodding before he spoke, the words tasting of relief as he finally said them. "There was this kid," he started, seeing the boy's young unaware face behind his eyelids. "He was no older than you when I met you."

She didn't know how long she sat there waiting for him to continue, even after she knew he wouldn't say more she continued to lie quietly beside him. He didn't have to say it, she knew he'd shot him – Dick, who was better than all of them, was struggling to accept having killed a young German who most likely would've killed him. There was a reason she loved this man.

"I showed you mine," he said wanting to think of something else, wanting to talk about something else – wanting to know why she was hiding in his shadow.

With a nod she sighed. "I can't tell you the details," she told him, "Nixon was right." That was enough for Dick to know that Nix's 'theory' wasn't far from the truth, and somehow not even that was really a surprise – as though he'd always known there was more he had yet to learn about her. "All I can tell you is it ended with me in a room with five guys and a gun to my head."

He stared at her floored at hearing just how close she was being put on the line, and he'd allowed it. "How did you?" he didn't even know how to finish that question, he could barely comprehend that she'd actually almost died.

She heard the turmoil in his voice knowing he wanted to be able to keep her with Easy, because he'd have her on hand and knew what she was doing. "He pulled the trigger," she said further shocking him. "The gun jammed, I took the initial moment of confusion to kill them." She could still remember that moment, it'd been no more than ten seconds before she'd broken their necks – she'd been left reeling at not being dead, her body had moved on its own. She barely remembered what she'd done only that she'd stood in the middle of the room with five dead men at her feet, and even more Germans outside that she had to get away from. "Colonel Sink said I was very luck that the gun jammed. But I," she broke off finding it hard to say the words that'd been plaguing her for a week, "I can't stop waking up thinking I might've luckier if it hadn't."

They were left in silence with their troubles echoing in the quiet around them; it was a bitter aching silence that weighed too heavily, too intimate and familiar. And they sighed before leaning together, their noses crossed and their foreheads pressed against each other, and they laid unhappily remembering the nightmare that haunted them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kind of sad this chapter didn't have any Joe in it, but there's still a lot about Chris no one knows - and I'm trying to keep her a mystery to you guys as well, at least what she does as a spy. There will be Joe next chapter, a lot more, and it'll probably be a lighter chapter as well - and I'll leave you all with a hint as to what's coming; it'll be more on the M rated side. And I am excited to get to it. As always, thank you very much for reading.


	14. sometimes love is not enough

Dick woke before the sun rose, as he normally did those days. He still laid facing Chris but she wasn't lying beside him anymore, she rarely was – he'd realized she didn't sleep well during the night, and she often napped in the day. But instead of standing at the window staring at dawn, she sat on the bed looking at the shadows on the wall as they danced. "You gonna see Joe before tomorrow?" he asked wondering when she'd leave him, almost wanting to tell her to stay because he was so used to her warm body beside his.

"I was thinking about going after everyone had gone to bed, if you don't mind my staying another day."

He willingly took it, wondering how quiet the silence would be when her heart wasn't beating within it. "You can stay as long as you want," he assured her.

She smiled for a brief moment before moving the legs she'd bent over his waist so he could get up. As she watched Dick get dressed she sat caught between never wanting to leave and wanting to sit quietly with Joe's arms around her; Chris had been so sure she could contentedly sit in the same room as Dick without any troubles, hiding herself away from the others because her mouth didn't want to smile and her heart didn't want to laugh. But there was an ache buried deep in her chest, the sense of something missing rooted deep in her bones. She supposed it was hopeless; she was completely in love with Joe.

The rest of the day drew slowly on, the quiet page turning of 'For Whom the Bells Tolls,' the incessant pings of the typewriter, the stillness, the security; it was a peace neither Dick nor Chris would likely find again before the war was done. Though the sun had set and it was past the time for lights out Chris still sat on Dick's bed – but now her book was haphazardly lying open near the edge of the cot and an arm was slung behind her head. She looked at Dick to see his furrowed brows as he nearly glared at the paper stuck in the typewriter – she wouldn't leave him if she waited any longer. She could already see his exhaustion and frustration in the way he ran a hand over his face and if she didn't go before he laid beside her then she wouldn't leave at all.

"I'm gonna go," she said suddenly on her feet stuffing her book in her bag, rustling the package of a dead man's uniform that took up the bottom. "Will you see me off tomorrow, or am I stuck with Strayer?" she asked stopping in front of his desk.

He smiled gently as he stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. "I can if you'd like," he said, leaving the decision to her instead of admitting he wanted to be there; and she rolled her eyes smiling without giving him an answer – they both knew it was a yes, from both of them. He waited for her to go, to turn on her heel without another word leaving him with such an absence of presence it was like she was never there; she rarely ever said goodbye. "Are we seeing you again before your next assignment?" he asked when she didn't, knowing she was contemplating whether or not to leave.

And she was, now that she was standing ready to go it was settling in her that she may or may not see them again before December. "I'll be stationed at a hospital in Reims the remaining weeks, should you find yourself in France before then."

She didn't add maybe, she didn't continue and say they'd see her then, she let the sentence hang there as unfinished as it was unanswered – she didn't know if they'd see her again. That struck him with such a force he almost needed to take a seat in order to process the thought of this being the last night he had her. It couldn't be, she had so much left in her and it all might be taken away – this is why that boy haunted him, it was her fault. "We will," he said not because he believed it but because he wanted it, and if he said it loud and sure enough maybe God might grant his prayer.

A belief she didn't share, and it was evident in the sad quaint smile she gave before kissing his cheek. "Si nous nous réunissons à nouveau, cher ami." She stared at his handsome face a moment too long, trying in vain to etch it and the comfort he gave her to memory. And then she was gone, shutting his door behind her feeling him slip away from her with every step she took in that cold dark night until there was nothing left but the empty shell she'd always been.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, he'd always been her first choice. But when Ron came to and found Chris sitting with her back against his side, he allowed himself to be taken aback. He hadn't expected her to come see him, looking at him and him at her from afar had always been enough and they were able to go about their business without ever seeming to care. Until Carentan, with no word from anyone on Meehan's plane he'd let himself worry for the little shit. And so waking to find her next to him, a full admittance he meant something to her, he knew without seeing her face why she was there. "You're gonna die."

Three words, four counting the contraction, the answer to which was a twitch of her shoulder, encompassed her existence. How fleeting her life seemed, nineteen short wasteful years, a little less than a hundred German deaths to her name, and an emptiness in her that consumed any pride she might've had in herself. The weight of the world seemed to weigh on her shoulders as she tried to shrug, as she tried to pretend like death was just another chapter.

So he pretended the same, like losing this girl was easy for him. "Shame I didn't like you more, I might've missed you."

It did what he wanted, she gave a breath of a laugh as she smiled. Like an old worn shoe that fit her foot better than the one she'd been wearing. "If there is a heaven, Speirs, I will see you in hell."

His short quiet chuckle blended with the snoring around him. "Don't start the fun without me, kid."

"I promise nothing," she said hitting his leg before standing. The difference between Ron and every other human on the damn planet was she could leave it at that and feel complete, like she didn't owe him more or she hadn't done enough – it was finished. If only she could feel the same toward everyone else she might be able to accept she'd probably die before the New Year, she might not even regret it.

But it wasn't like that with anyone else, the proof being her place on the stairs outside the building Joe lay sleeping inside of. She didn't go to him, she would ruin his good mood and they'd either argue or say something they didn't mean and sit in silence the remainder of the night wishing she'd leave. It's how it always went when she was like this, and she hadn't felt like this in a long many months.

So she sat outside smoking her pack of cigarettes in the cool air as night slowly turned to dawn. It was probably the last night she'd get to sleep, no rest to be found in a hospital and then her assignment where she was sure to never sleep again – and yet she sat staring at the waning dance of the stars above her, wondering if one day the sky would be filled with the light of the souls granted entrance to heaven. And knowing with certainty her light would never shine.

"You weren't planning on telling us goodbye, were you?"

She looked at where Malarkey stood jostling back and forth on his feet, having woken needing to piss. Not this time, if Joe had been the one asking that's what she'd've told him and he would know it meant she wasn't coming back. But it wasn't Joe, so she said; "I'll be seeing you soon enough." She lied through her teeth, because wasn't it fucking pretty to think so. He occupied the space beside her, his body radiating warmth to her right and dawn chilling her to her left; they sat together quietly waiting for the first light of the morning to bring forth a new day.

As more people began waking she turned to Malarkey and find him already staring back with sad eyes that admitted he had an idea of what she wasn't saying. "Would you tell him for me?" she asked softly, her words and breath a disappearing wisp on the morning wind.

"He's not gonna be happy," he told her, almost regretting he'd found her cause Joe was sure to take it out on him.

Taking a last drag she handed him the rest of her cigarette and stood. "It's kind of the point," she said, walking away without looking back.

She was back in Dick's room before anyone else had woken, before the call would ring and she'd be forced to give her goodbyes. She didn't thank God often but she thanked him then that Dick was still sleeping, and she knelt beside his cot and kissed his warm forehead – holding herself there in that moment where the world didn't feel like a black abyss waiting to swallow her whole.

He stirred at her touch, his mind slow to waking; giving her time to slip away before he'd opened eyes. He was met with an empty room and the remnants of her cheek against his, knowing she'd have gone to Sink to leave without having to see anyone. Like a thief in the night she disappeared, leaving her Company wondering where she'd gone.

…

_December 10,1944_

She blew through the doors of HQ like a whirlwind, startling Dick's errand boy and nearly barreling into Bill. "You sit your fucking ass back down, I can show myself in," she told the boy aiming a daggered stare and a sharp finger in his direction before she next looked to Bill. "And you I'm not happy enough to be glad to see."

And on she continued, her boots thumping loud and quick echoing her attitude as she threw open the door to Dick's office and turned on Nixon. "I've got half a mind to cave your face in."

"Chris," Dick was quick to reprimand, though in truth Nixon might've deserved it because Dick didn't know what'd happened to make her angry.

Nix raised his hands in surrender. "Welsh hold her back," he said knowing the smaller man would do nothing for the amusement of seeing her kick his ass. "Now as I was saying," he calmly resumed turning to Dick, "I arranged for you to have company," he gestured to Chris like she were a prize Dick had won. "Thought you two might enjoy Paris, be boring together." He looked from Dick's face to Chris' to see neither of them were warming to the pass, something anyone else would've been glad to take. "Christ, the both of you, it's been two months and who knows if we're seeing you again. You're welcome," he said speaking directly to Chris who was still glaring as though she was calculating the best way to take him out.

"I didn't say thank you," she told him even though she knew she should be thankful. "I now have to say hi to everyone I didn't say goodbye to when I left. Not only that but I gave him," she thrust her accusing finger at Dick, "an emotional farewell and now I have to do it again."

Nix stared down at her hard face, seeing her resolve cracking as it became more apparent there was no way she was getting out of this. "What are you saying, Woodridge?" he asked daring her to continue.

A dare he wasn't entirely prepared for her to accept. "You better be glad your looks are the only thing you got goin for you," she told him before turning on her heel leaving him to stare after her with wide offended eyes, his thick brows high on his forehead.

"You forgot to salute," Dick reminded her.

Tearing the door open she muttered, "I'll salute your ass," before closing the door with less vehemence than when she'd come in. Upon exiting HQ she saw the short, top button always done, man she'd been looking for.

"Private Woodridge," John Zielinski, Winters' orderly, greeted upon seeing her. He'd been shocked at first at a woman in the 506th, as everyone else was, but unlike most his shock had stayed – and for the most part it was her doing, she made no effort to be friendly and quite frankly she scared him.

"I don't remember your name," she told him carelessly. "I was told I was being given someone on leave's quarters, where are they?" She followed his hand to the building he pointed to, knowing Dick's own room was probably inside as well. "Alright," she said, meaning to put a thank you at the end but the words got lost on the way out of her mouth. And then her name was being called.

"Thought that was you, how the fuck you been?" George asked slinging an arm around her shoulder and pulling her away.

Tired of seeing people die, that was the only answer she had but it was one she never gave – it was never what people were looking for. Least of all George, who wanted to laugh and make her laugh, show her off to the others that he found her first. "Ready to be back to Easy," she said watching a slow grin curl wide on his face. God she'd missed that smile.

He lead her to the mess hall, where the men were welcoming back Bill, and they hollered when they saw a soldier with hair now down to her shoulders. She'd have to get it cut again, to at least hide it under her helmet at the beginning of the assignment – which was gathering information about the German unit's next plan of attack and then blow their covers and be taken prisoner to lead them into an ambush. It was important this mission go to plan, that they take the Captain alive so they could feed him the report he'd give to his General – who they were also going to capture and force him and his men to surrender. Hundreds of German soldiers, this was the most important assignment she'd been given and it'd been the plan from the beginning – she realized the moment her orders had been given this was the torture she'd been trained for. So in sum, she had to get her hair cut. Which meant she needed Joe, who was currently sitting beside Popeye refusing to look at her.

These were her thoughts as she conversed with the men of Easy, smiled at their stories of all she'd missed the past two months, nodded somberly as they told her who was wounded or killed because this time she didn't see any of them, laughed at their jokes tried to joke with them. At face value she was normal, arrogant, biting, humorous Chris Woodridge - but her focus wasn't there. Lights out couldn't have come soon enough, she stood and walked against the crowd toward the one soldier she actually wanted to see. Leaning toward him she spoke directly into Joe's ear telling him both building, room, and time before she continued on her way, leaving him looking after her with dark eyes at being once more at her beck and call.

And yet within an hour he was outside her window tapping quietly on the glass, proving he'd come anytime she called. He'd spent the last two months thinking she was dead or going to die and hadn't said goodbye because it was easier for her to leave – needless to say the last two months he'd spent his time worried, amidst the war. He was finally starting to see why she'd pushed him away as firmly as she had, caring about her was making him unfocused and sloppy and it was gonna get him killed. But then she showed up on George's arm and reminded him why everything mattered. The fuck was he supposed to do.

"Is this the goodbye you forgot to give me last time?" he asked when she opened the window.

Her eyes hardened as he climbed inside and she stayed quiet while she relatched the window and pulled the drapes. And then she turned toward him. "The phrase I'm sorry is to admit failure – a failure I don't believe I made, so an apology I do not give."

He laughed at the absurdity of what she said, at the realization he'd never heard her apologize for anything – not for breaking Muck's nose, not for her attitude or her distance, her stubbornness that refused to let her enjoy card games. He might've been laughing because she really was worse than him. "Jesus, Chris," he muttered shaking his head not knowing what to do with her, only that the longer he stood in that almost quiet room the more he was glad to see her. "Alright, what'd you want?" he asked cutting to the point knowing it was easier for her.

Except no part of it was easy for her, she didn't know what she wanted only that he was apart of it – and then she was left explaining all of that and she'd always been a woman of few words who didn't like explaining herself. "I suppose I should've said goodbye," she reluctantly admitted, though it wasn't at all what she wanted to say.

And he knew it. "Don't push it, what do you want?"

"I need you to cut my hair again," is what she ended up saying without much thought behind it. It was true at some point that night she wanted her hair cut but that wasn't all of it.

Not like Joe was now thinking because he knew she wasn't above using someone to get what she wanted. "You got the fucking scissors?" he seethed, knowing if she'd just look at him he'd see what she really wanted and he'd stop burning like this. But she'd always been pigheaded, no matter at whose expense.

She almost missed his taking them from her he snatched them so fast out of her hand, but the cool metal against her skin warmed and she lowered her empty hand feeling him standing at her back with his hands in her hair knowing part of him wanted to rip out every strand. If she stayed quiet he'd finish and stand for several seconds at her back waiting for her to say something before giving up throwing the scissors at the wall and climbing back out the window to hate her for the rest of his life. He probably wouldn't think of her out of his own stubbornness, he'd get through the war without her weighing him down, he'd go home get married be happy and she'd be nothing but a memory he refused to dwell on. Him hating her was the best scenario and she'd gone through them all. But as stubborn as she might've been she was even more selfish and she couldn't stop her mouth from opening. "I don't believe in love, did I ever tell you that?"

The quiet snips of the scissors cutting her dark hair paused as he tried to figure out what she wasn't saying. It'd been many months since she'd last fought him this hard, he almost forgot how hard it was to care about her – she held everything to her chest keeping it hidden until she let only the smallest piece show. But he hated having to admit he didn't know what she was saying. "Your fucking attitude said enough."

She fell quiet again, not from his biting tone because she'd expected it. Her brain and heart were at war, logic and desire the ammunition, and she was the battleground waiting for one side to fall. His hands were softer less demanding as he too waited with her. "I'm going against what I believe in," she told him. "Again, considering I was warned on several occasions about getting too close to one of you."

"What are you saying?" he asked forgetting his stubborn self-righteous anger as he stood wondering if he was hearing her right.

She didn't turn to him, didn't give herself any reason not to keep talking because she'd let him get too close and it was her fault so she owed him the truth. So that's what she gave him, against direct orders and all commonsense she finally opened herself up and told him the truth no matter that it felt a little like dying inside. "I wouldn't have minded the house," she said in a breath soft enough to be a whisper. "Or the little Liebgotts." She could've been that person. It would've taken time, practice even in learning how to properly love, but she could've done it. She might even have been happy.

"Chris," he said trying to stop her because this wasn't what he wanted. An apology, a kiss even, but not her softness that only came when she thought she was dying.

But she turned to him undeterred, forced to strain her neck to see his face as she sat at the edge of the bed, leaving her pale neck exposed and her pulse visibly beating against her skin. "If this was the end of the world," she glanced between his dark eyes seeing not only in their gaze but also in the crease of his brow he wasn't happy with that thought, "would you love me?"

His first thought was naturally that it wasn't the end of the world, because he wasn't the kind of man to easily admit his second thought – that it didn't have to be the end of the world for him to love her. He stood staring down at her eyes, blue as cold water, and more desperate than she'd ever let herself be. "Yes."

She surprised him, as she often did. He didn't expect her to act first, not after she gave him so much; normally she waited for him to act. But she took his shirt in hand and pulled him to her, kissed him with far more strength than she ever allowed and just about completely swept him off his feet. She laid back pulling him with her not giving him a chance to settle on top of her before she reached for his belt. Feeling it slide from his belt loops is when his mind finally caught up, finding his teeth scraping hers, his hands lifting her shirt.

There wasn't time for all they wanted, their clothes were left half on, conscious ears were too close for them to say all they felt, every sound clawed at the back of their throats begging for release. There was no magic to be found, the world didn't turn on its axis, the stars didn't shine brighter, the universe didn't hold its breath. The war waged on, soldiers died, wives became widows, mothers became childless, sisters brotherless, children fatherless – the love found in that small dim room wasn't enough to heal their broken world.

And they were soon laid spent beside each other with nothing but their fluttering hearts and deepened breaths to show for. It wasn't as warm as it was stifling, not as safe as it was temporary, not as happy as it was content. But it was the closest they'd come in months, in a small candlelit room hearing people moving about in the rooms near them. It wasn't much, but it was theirs.

"You know if you just wanted to sleep with me you coulda said so."

She laid on her side facing him feeling his breath on her face as he smiled. "I couldn't be that easy," she said forcing her mouth to curl. Truth was she didn't wanna smile, she didn't want to joke and act like everything would be okay – she wanted to be weak, she wanted him to hold her for him to tell her everything would be okay because she really didn't think it would be. "I should've said goodbye," she told him, as much as she could tell him without going against orders.

He heard the double meaning, that he'd been right the first time – she didn't know if she'd see them again so she did what she thought was best, at least best for herself. "Is this goodbye?"

"Lieutenant Nixon gave me a forty-eight hour pass to Paris, I leave at 0600 hours."

"So this is goodbye," he said wanting her to at least make an effort, especially if she was saying what he thought she was.

She could see it in his eyes, behind the smirk and the heat, he was worried. "For now," she shrugged like it meant nothing to her. "I shouldn't tell you anything, I was ordered not to."

"Come on," he scoffed. "I can keep a secret."

Rolling her eyes she told her mouth to grin. "Yeah and George is sincere," she rebutted. "But in all seriousness you can't utter a word, I mean it Joe," she raised a finger in warning for good measure.

"Cross my fucking heart."

She paused a moment, to him it looked like she was weighing whether to tell him, but really she was looking for anything but the truth. "We're infiltrating another Company," is what she settled on, which wasn't entirely false

He knew immediately she was lying, her eyes were on his lashes unable to meet his gaze. "You've already done that, why are you worried?"

She raised a shoulder letting herself look uncomfortable, which she was cause she hated lying to him – but she'd hate even more if his concern for her got him killed. "I know," she said quietly. "And I successfully completed both missions, which means this is the one that's gonna go wrong. That's how it works, right?"

Her eyes were so perfectly widened with fear he didn't think to suspect this was another lie, he loved her too much to think she'd use his own feelings against him. "Chris, you're a spy. Fucking act like it, would you?" He waited for her taken aback face to melt into laughter, short quiet chuckles so not be overheard. "You're gonna be fine," he said not at all sure of it, or of her honesty. But it's all she'd given him, so that was all he had to give her. "The house'll still be there, we're already on our way to makin little Liebgotts."

He knew the moment her face turned to stone he'd been right in her having lied, because his words stilled her. Or at least the meaning behind them did. "Was that a proposal?"

Her voice was soft, her mouth pulled in a tight frown, her brows furrowed deeply – this was his Chris, his suspicious walled in Chris. And he pressed a long kiss to her sweet mouth before climbing out of the bed and pulling the sheets over her. "I'm gonna go before you say no." He gave her a sly grin, kissed her shocked mouth again before he climbed back out of the window.

She laid exactly where he left her, still turned to face him, her lips parted around an answer she wasn't ready to give. Only her wide eyes were now filled with tears as she sat with a longing she didn't think she was capable of, as she laid in the silence of her own breathing with the knowledge she'd never get it.

Dawn couldn't have come soon enough, warming her from her cold and lonely dreams. And soon she sat jostling beside Dick as they were driven to the train that'd take them to Paris, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin dissipating more and more each time her shoulder brushed his. Neither said a word, there were no words needed between them nor were there any to be said – it would've broken the peace. They stayed quiet in the jeep, stayed quiet on the train. The only way to tell they cared anything for each other was by measuring the distance between them, or rather lack there of. He felt every breath she took, his own breathing settled into rhythm with hers, and they sat staring out the window watching the world pass them by with the sky far brighter and more cheerful than it had any right.

They arrived in Paris at noon, the train having stopped more times than it should've not that either of them minded when they both would have settled for his room back in Mourmelon. "Are you hungry?" he asked as they stepped onto the platform, his body still feeling like it was rolling on the rails.

"Not really," she answered staring hard at every sliver of a crack around her for an ounce of familiarity without finding any. "I could go for a drink."

He cast her a half hardened stare. "You got another year before I'll allow that. I'm sure we can find a café," he told her only slightly joking.

It was comfortable being with him when he was so unchanging, albeit a little more haunted but for the most part the same. "I know one," she said making his brows raise with the admittance she knew where they were. "I used to steal pastries from it."

"Christine Marie," he hissed quickly following after her.

She turned to him with a face that read one part amusement and the other irritation. "You wrapped my breasts for a reason, Dick, don't advertise that I'm a woman. Also, my middle name is Maryse, not Marie." With that she plucked the map from his hand and stalked off, leaving him maneuvering his way after her around the crowd of people that never seemed to thin. After several long brisk minutes, and even longer blocks as they stopped first by their accommodations to drop off their bags and then back out into the busy streets, she finally stopped in front of a crowded café. "Here we are."

It was as good as any to Dick, he'd never been to Paris before. But a look had crept onto her face, something resembling nervous, making her face younger as her eyes rounded. He bit his tongue to keep from asking what she was thinking, knowing her well enough that she'd straighten her shoulders and throw the question back at him after she sharpened the edges.

So they fell silent again, Dick staring hard at the map looking for where he wanted to go and Chris staring at the same tower she'd once gazed hopefully at as a girl. All around them people spoke either quietly or boisterously, vehicles rumbled and honked, American men guffawed and the French turned up their noses. And yet the two paratroopers that sat together remained quiet, occasionally Dick glanced up at her wishing she'd just tell him but understanding that it wasn't dark enough to make her feel safe enough to talk.

"Anywhere you're thinking of going?" he asked unable to contain himself.

She pondered a moment whether or not to tell him, but then he'd offer to come with her and she felt so much like a child needing someone to hold her hand. "You should go, have fun, be free for the rest of the day. I'll stop off somewhere before going back to the room."

"Chris," he said trying to stop her before she stood but she was already on her feet. "Chris." He pressed his lips together feeling his teeth biting into his skin not knowing what to do but let her go. Not that he had much of a choice, she'd slipped into the mass of people and disappeared completely, leaving nothing but a few people who'd caught sight of her sharp elegant face and stared after wondering and confused.

…

It was late by the time he finally meandered his way back to their room, the two having been assigned to bunk together as he already knew she was a woman. He found her in the bed with the covers pulled up to her shoulders and her back to him, and only guessing by her unmoving form she was asleep he quietly shut and locked the door behind him. He unlaced his boots, pulled off his jacket, slowed his movements to lessen the noise and ran a hand through his hair as he crept his way to the bed.

"You don't have to tiptoe."

Her voice gave him pause, nearly startled him it'd been so quiet before she spoke. "I didn't know if you were awake," he told her moving around the bedframe to climb under the sheets with her, no real thought about it even though there was a separate bed for him across the room. Whether it was his missing her constant presence, her beating heart and her even breaths beside him as he slept, or the soft warm bed he sank into, he gave a sigh of contented exhaustion as his eyes closed.

She stared at the side of his face seeing the bags under his eyes, having noticed earlier that day the tension in his spine. "Is that boy still haunting you?"

With his reverie broken he opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "How do you feel being back?"

Finally the peace she found in him engulfed her. No more strange yet familiar streets, no more emptiness at realizing how much of herself she'd lost, no more the feeling of being untethered. She was with him, she was safe. "I visited the orphanage," she said watching his brows raise with such surprise they neared his hairline. "The woman I knew died five years ago, the church took it over made them all Catholic."

Disdain was thick in her voice, as was her accent after speaking only French for half of the day. He almost smiled, would have smiled if not for the quietness in the way she laid beside him. "But how do you feel?" he prodded again.

She was back to this again, feelings and how they applied to her and the fact that she didn't want them to. But he'd turned fully to her, stared at her expectantly and he wasn't going to stop without an answer. "Lost," she said feeling that word stick to her tongue not wanting to come loose. "I'm not the girl that used to live here, she used to dream of better things, and I don't know how to be her again. I don't know if I can." Her chest felt empty as if she'd plucked that straight from her heart and handed to him. She hated this, it's why she did all she could to avoid it.

And he knew that, but he knew as well that she needed to get it off her chest or else she'd never be free. "What'd you tell Joe?" he asked knowing he was somewhere in her clouded mind, most likely being a majority of the problem cause Dick had figured out months ago she didn't feel good enough for him. He thought maybe if she'd just think about it, she didn't even have to say it out loud, but if she let the thought come to her that she wanted to be the kind of person who could be married and have a family then maybe she might come out of this. And the only reason Dick was verbally admitting his knowledge of their inappropriate relationship was because she needed every reason to want to come out of this alive, because they were truly going to lose her if she had any doubt. "Chris," he said pushing her harder than he ever had.

"I lied," she finally answered at realizing he wouldn't stop until she did, which meant he wanted the truth. So she gave it. "I said it was something safer than it was. He won't worry, it'll be fine."

She said safer like anything she'd done in the war had been safe, like at any given moment she wasn't under threat of death. "Is that what you want?"

Without thinking she shook her head. "He'll be fine." Her mouth said one thing but she was still shaking her head, because it wasn't at all what she wanted. None of this was. She was stuck not knowing what she wanted – to be the machine of a soldier or the hopeful little girl. Or maybe she wanted death, as Ernest Hemingway often wrote of – maybe her final act would be to march for her country no matter that her path led only one direction and there was no going back. She just didn't know.

That was the moment he understood everything she hadn't said, what she only alluded to.  _Colonial Sink said I was lucky the gun jammed. But I can't stop waking up thinking I might've been luckier if it hadn't._  Even then, two months ago, she'd been thinking the same thing she thought now – only now it was closer and the part of her that wanted to live had been stripped so thin by how many deaths she'd been forced to witness. She wasn't sad, she wasn't heartbroken at the thought of never marrying Joe, these weren't the emotions of a twenty year old girl – she was a war-weary soldier having been fighting for almost ten years, and she was giving up. That's what she was thinking, what she'd been thinking for so long. "Chris," he breathed, brushing the hair from her face gaining her attention as she looked at him. Her eyes said it all, they had all along – not vulnerable, not unsure of herself, not slowly unfolding into an actual person. She was exhausted, her bones were tired and she was done. "Do me a favor," he stared hard at her moonlit face hoping she could see the sincerity and god honest desperation in his own gaze, "don't die."

It took a moment for his plea to stick in her mind, for her ears to recognize her own request to him, for her glassy eyes to shatter and resignation to shine so tangibly it spread over him like a blanket on a sweltering day. Not the reluctant giving in kind of resignation but the kind that settled in a person's soul, as if life to her had become as inconvenient as it was inevitable.  
But hearing those desperate words and seeing his pained face had her sighing. And with the release of that breath and the death she'd dreamed, all the world seemed to settle on her shoulders – the weight of a promise. "Okay."


	15. when the road gets tough

Chris left early the next morning, had tried sneaking out before the empty space at Dick's side had woken him. And she'd rolled her eyes before closing the door and walking back to the bed. "I'm leaving my bag. It's got my books in it, so don't fucking lose it cause I want it when I get back."

He'd smiled not just at her attitude, which came mostly with having to tell him goodbye again, but also at the verbal proof she was now planning to return. Or at least try to.

But not even a week later Dick found himself surrounded by snow and not nearly enough supplies for his men and while her uniform might've been small it was another layer to battle the frozen earth, her socks big enough to warm frostbitten feet. Not to mention her med kit.

"Here," Dick said reluctantly handing Roe the med kit he'd been holding onto. "It doesn't have much more than a few bandages but she'd always been stingy with her morphine."

Roe almost laughed, tried to but his mouth was frozen in a frown, so he continued shifting his weight trying to get warm as he stuffed the small bag under his arm. "She's not gonna be happy when I give it back to her," he said knowing she was fiercely possessive.

Something Dick also knew, only his reason for not smiling had less to do with pain and more to do with worry. She would've infiltrated the Company a week ago to the day, it wouldn't be long before she was taken prisoner if she hadn't been already. "She'll understand," he said knowing she would, and would still make a fuss because for all the things she was good at sharing wasn't one of them. "I've got her uniform, a few pairs of socks."

Roe nodded at that, knowing a vicious fight would break out over who'd get them – especially if her name came with it. "I do not suggest this," he started already swallowing uncomfortably at the thought of her face if they ever went through with it, "but stuffing some a the pages from those books in our coats might do somethin for heat." Roe didn't even stay for Dick's response before he quickly turned on his heel and walked back to where Easy Company was positioned at the front of the line.

Dick had sworn to himself they'd never do it, not if they valued their lives – she'd not only be livid but she'd have just endured torture, and he wouldn't put it past her to snap. But as the days dragged slowly and frigidly on, as more and more men were blown to pieces, and each night as the sun fell and the moon hovered in the black sky offering only more cold, he started considering it. The men were breaking, moral was snowed down and frozen to the ground – she carried three books, all of which had over two hundred pages. They could each carry a dozen balled up pages in their coats and there still be more to give out, not only that but most of them at least knew her name if not the woman herself and seeing words she'd once read religiously might do something to boost their spirits if not at least give them something to do besides waste away in the snow.

It was settled, at least for Dick cause Nix outright refused and then threw his hands up saying he wanted nothing to do with it or her wrath – it'd been halfhearted, Nix didn't know full details of her current mission but he knew Dick well enough that she might not be coming back. Either way, Dick finally turned her bag over and let its contents spill onto the hard ground thinking even the bag could be used for a little warmth – it was better to get it all out of the way, because he knew the moment he smelled her on the first book he'd change his mind. The books fell with a quiet thump, her dog tags clanked together before they stuck silently in the snow, several pens and pencil stubs dropped, the pages of an unused notebook rubbed together as they fell through the air. When all had come loose Dick turned over the bag feeling something had been shoved so far down, and for so long, that it was stuck to the bottom. The sight of the brown package stilled him, and before he pulled it out he knew the name he'd see on the side:  _Meehan Thomas Lt._

"Jesus," Lewis muttered as he stood from where he'd bent to grab the books, having hoped to change Dick's mind. "She must've had that, what, five six months?"

"Yeah," he breathed staring at the faded name on the wrinkled paper. He understood then why she'd left her bag with him, they would've thrown everything she'd been carrying away because she wouldn't need it where she was going – it wasn't the books, she could buy new ones. It was this, the uniform of a dead man she owed her life to. This was all the proof needed to know there was a beautiful person hiding inside her. He pushed the package to the bottom of her bag and collected the pens and notebook, the dog tags she didn't need as a German soldier, he put them all back. And then he took the books from Nix laid them on top and redid the buckle before setting it back in his foxhole.

Nix had stood quietly watching Dick react, his quiet emotions, his sad face. There was nothing he could think to say, a position Lewis Nixon didn't often find himself. But he knew Dick's concern, he knew exactly what the other man was thinking – she would've blown her cover by then and let herself be taken prisoner, and who knew what the Germans would do with not only a spy but a woman who was just stupidly fiery enough to admit she was a Jew. God if they got her back, if, she'd never be the same. That's what Dick was thinking, that whatever good had been in her was being beaten out of her. "You remember how many pushups she did to get back at Sobel," he asked with a forced laugh at the fond memory, feeling cold air sneak into his clothes making him shiver. "Girl didn't have an ounce of strength left, but she would've gone on all day with nothing but her stubbornness to keep her going. She'll be fine, Dick."

To anyone else the hard look in Dick's eyes might've been mistaken for hostility, but to Nixon it was just an extension of his worry. Then Dick nodded, giving no pretense that he believed it. "Yeah," he sighed turning on his heel.

Nix watched him go, her being there was the only thing that'd help. All other words or gestures just hurt more because there really was no hope to believe she'd be coming back. He turned to the bare trees covered only by a thin layer of snow, felt that same frigid air on the back of his neck and he shivered again. "She'll be fine," he told himself, wishing for nothing more than a drink.

…

It wasn't long after Easy was stationed at the front line in Bastogne that the men realized Chris wasn't coming back – at least not for this operation. And they had every intention to give her shit for it: they weren't serious, they had no doubt she was fighting just as hard as they were. At least they weren't at first, cause by the end of it they'd resent everyone who hadn't been there.

"What d'you think Chris would do if she was here?" Muck asked one day while they huddled together waiting to eat.

That was the place Malarkey usually pitched in, the two men had always given her the most hell. But Malarkey was quiet where it came to Chris those long cold days, not wanting to remember the almost defeated way she'd left him months before – he hadn't understood it at the time but he thought it might now, she'd given up. It'd taken something out of him to realize that someone as strong and untouchable as her could be broken, cause there was no chance for the likes of him.

So in Malarkey's place Bill answered, "bitch like the rest of us. Broad's got no meat on them bones, she'd've frozen that nice ass off."

The guys that knew her best, the ones still around from Toccoa, shared a laugh at the thought of her in those old shorts. "She'd a gotten us extra supplies though," Bull said in her favor. "That girl could charm the skin off a snake."

They mumbled their agreement, not that she could charm her way into what she wanted – she rarely did because she favored scaring people – they had no doubt she'd have gotten them what they needed to battle the winter and she would've fought their superiors as hard as she fought the Germans in order to get it. Because as cold and steeled as Chris was, she was secretly kind.

"Nah, she'd like the snow," George told them. "She'd put her head on Lieb's shoulder and watch it fall." It was a melancholy thought, for the most part they all wished she was there because they enjoyed her presence; but then again they didn't wanna be there, it wasn't fair to wish it on her. It was quiet, until George added, "and then she'd quote something Hemingway said."

"And we'd ask what the fuck it meant," Martin added with a laugh.

They continued on a little while longer, George working up his best Chris impression – which always fell short because there something in the tone of her voice that made it sound like she was telling them a secret – several chuckles as one of them corrected George's idea of what she'd say. And somehow it was Babe who knew she'd love the way the snow hung on the trees. But then a replacement asked who they were talking about not knowing there was a woman attached to their Company somewhere fighting Germans, and no one would answer because it didn't feel right to share her.

When they'd eaten and began trudging back to their foxholes Luz stopped beside Joe. "I know you said not to ask, but d'she really not tell you?" He'd been trying for days to get it out of Joe where she'd gone this time not knowing when to expect her back – he had so many things to tell her, mostly about Dike, but really he just wanted to make her laugh.

Whether it was all the talk of her, and how right they were cause she was fucked up enough to be freezing her ass off and still think the snow was just the most beautiful thing, or because he missed the hell out of her. "She lied," he said telling Luz the truth because he knew what it meant.

"Shit," George breathed staring hard at Joe's ever darkening face. She didn't tell Joe everything, sometimes she wouldn't even answer, but she didn't lie. At least not to him. "Can't be worse thanhere, right?" he asked trying for a joke but it fell flat, cause they were in hell, and they just never knew with Chris.

Which is what Joe was thinking, what he was always thinking when a quiet moment found him. "Bad enough it scared her." He let that sink in, heard George's soft fuck as he realized that Chris – immoveable, stubborn, cruel, sweet Chris – had been scared. "Do me a favor, Luz," he said rising to his cold and aching feet, "don't fuckin talk about her."

…

As more snow fell and time drew on her name was mentioned less and less. Whispered in a foxhole here and there, a curse muttered about that 'lucky son of a bitch' for not having to be there. They were cold, they were tired, constantly being mortared, their friends were dying; she was stored in their back of their minds for a later date when she mattered, because in those frigid lonely days she was nothing more than a ghost.

Even Dick thought of her less, worried less, needed her less. He'd broken the habit of sleeping beside her, of needed her heartbeat to settle his – he would've taken her warmth beside him, but her absence no longer kept him awake at night. A spare thought would creep up on him and take him by surprise leaving him sad and aching to know she was alright – but even that didn't happen so frequently. His thoughts were on his men, leaderless with Dike in charge, and nothing he could do to keep them from dying; there was hardly any room for her.

The days dragged on, the new year came, and she was turning into a memory. Something small, a warm thought of better times they'd likely never see again. It was exactly as she wanted, the reason she never said goodbye – she slipped away in the night and only days later did anyone realize she was gone. There was no time to realize they were going to miss her until it was too late, and by then they didn't miss her as much.

* * *

_January 9, 1945_

Roe knelt at a replacements side at the aid station, the last of the wounded men and probably better off than the many others. The shelling that day had done a number on Easy, had taken Guarnere and Toye off the line for good, had killed a few others; and then there were some like the boy Roe currently sat trying to patch up, a boy he didn't even know the name of, who would be taken off the line only to come back in a few weeks. "I need ya to sit still," he told him, trying to stop the bleeding in his leg. Piece of shrapnel had lodged in his leg, acted as a plug but once removed they realized it'd nicked the artery. Currently his pressure on the wound was the only thing keeping the kid from bleeding out because the tourniquet wasn't holding, the problem was the medics surrounding him were busy with other soldiers needing help just as badly. "Can I get some help over here," he called for a third time.

His answer came in a pair of hands with long thin fingers, most of which were sickly yellow from previous bruises as though they'd been stepped on, that took the place of his own. It was all he needed, his hands free so he could grab his med kit and find a clamp. Without Roe having to ask the medic removed his hands so Roe could get to the artery, even better he then put pressure on the artery above the wound to slow the bleeding.

When it was over the kid had passed out, they'd stopped the bleeding, and he was being carried away to be taken to a hospital where they could better care for him. Both medics sat breathing heavy as they wiped the blood on an already blood-soaked rag relishing the victory of having saved the soldier's leg.

Roe turned with the intention of giving his thanks and was left silent at the sharp angular face under the helmet. "Chris?" he asked unsure if it was actually her. The face he was looking at showed signs of starvation; colorless skin, sunken cheeks, sunken eyes. It looked as though skin had been stretched over a skeleton, he could even see the ribs in her chest from the way the oversized shirt hung off of her – and he wondered if he ran his fingers down the notches if it'd sound like a xylophone. There was nothing beautiful about her, nothing at all to find. "I'm gonna look you over."

He didn't need her to answer, her eyes gave her away – blue as cold water, glittering like a snake's. It didn't matter that they were empty then, he knew their color just as he knew those freckles; it was her. She had a nasty cut on the side of her head, one that'd been carelessly stitched, several bruises hidden beneath her shirt, a scar on her back he knew went deeper than just skin, and the sad expanse of her stomach that left him wondering if she'd eaten anything in the month she'd been gone. There was no word for how she looked, nothing that encompassed it all – a stray dog limping down the street alone, malnourished, unloved, feral; that's how she looked.

After he did what little he could he sat back letting her pull on her uniform – it was too small to fit him and he was thin enough as it was, but even then it still hung oversized on her sickly frame. "I'm goin back to Easy, that's where Winters is if you wanna see him." He honestly didn't know what to do, he wasn't used to her silence – she wasn't a woman of many words but she breathed and she thought, this felt like she wasn't there.

Without a word she pushed passed him and took up a place at another wounded soldier's side and began the process again of helping where it was needed. He wasn't sure if at any point she'd really recognized it was him. And so an hour later he was standing outside Winter's foxhole, though in truth it looked more a fort with a collection of rocks and wood for walls and more wood for a roof – big enough to walk around in, and for him to work. "Sir," he said trying to get Winters' attention.

Winters finished saying his orders to be given to Dike before turning to Roe. "What is it?"

Roe stood shifting his weight in the snow not knowing how to explain. "She's at the aid station," he decided, going for something simple.

And even then Dick stared at him several long moments waiting for more before what Roe said really settled in him. She was there, at their aid station, which not only meant she was okay but that she'd healed enough to be sent to the line with them. "Has she said anything, if she's coming back to Easy, if she's being shipped out again? How is she?"

His intention had been one question that he could answer, but he'd mistaken the care this man had for her cause he was prepared to get in a truck and go to her if she wasn't. "She didn't say anything, sir," he answered. "Not a word. I asked if she wanted to see you, but," he was left shrugging not knowing how to phrase the way she moved, lifeless, numb.

It had Dick nodding, understanding that meant she wasn't ready to come back yet. It did nothing for his need to see her, now that he knew she was alive and there he wanted her at his side and he did not want her to leave it. "How'd she look?" That was the part he was stuck on, he didn't know if she was broken and bruised or if she'd already healed and he felt like he needed to be prepared for both – on the one hand the scars were on the outside, on the other they'd settled below the surface. And she'd never been easy about letting people in.

Roe nearly winced at the thought. "I think she needs time, sir," he said not knowing if he could answer any other way.

And again Dick nodded, having already guessed that. "Then I'd say it's best to keep this between us, until she's ready," he said not satisfied in the least, but he'd do it all the same. He'd give her anything she wanted so long as it meant she was alive to want it.

…

What Roe hadn't seen was that the bed Chris had found herself at was Buck's; he laid on his side with his back to them, a gentle broken giant. She recognized Roe, his soft accented voice, his gentle hands, his kind yet hard face; it didn't mean she wanted it. And she waited for him to leave before she moved around Buck's cot and sat at the place his legs bent at the waist. She pulled out her pack of cigarettes, the first thing she'd been given after being rescued, and lit one. Instead of smoking it as her starved lungs craved she held it out for the man who was somehow more dead-eyed than she was.

He took it from her, held it to his shivering mouth, gave a small puff, and handed it back. "You still owe me a dance," he told her, his voice trembling around his clenched jaw.

Taking it from him she held it to her own mouth, her hands steady, her entire body still. "Rain check," she responded quietly in kind. Neither of them smiled.

His side is where she spent most of her time. She'd been brought to this aid station to continue healing, the problem was she didn't sleep and she wasn't eating enough still – and she kept trying to help. So she sat with Buck, who didn't say anything, who she didn't say anything to, and waited for someone to call for help. Though half the time she didn't respond, she just kept continuing sitting beside him. She'd be sad when he left, lonely for someone, for anyone. Anyone that wasn't Joe or Winters, god or George; all of whom would want to talk, and she didn't wanna fucking talk.

What felt to her like an hour, but was actually into the next day, she felt someone stand at her right and turned to see another familiar face.

"You look like shit," Malarkey said when he realized who he was staring at. He'd always thought she was pretty in a dangerous unsettling way, but at that moment she looked like death was waiting for her to take his hand. He stepped aside when she hopped off the bed and walked passed him, turned to watch her go wondering what'd happened to her – she was supposed to joke back, say he did too or that it was part of her womanly charm, she was supposed to say something.

She stood against the side of the aid station with a cigarette in hand watching Buck leave. He at least was able to walk out, Bill was carried out still yelling about how nice it was to have her there to say goodbye and if she'd consider givin him a kiss since he went to so much trouble to see her. But it didn't mean she wanted Buck to go, as selfish as it was to wish for it. In truth, it wasn't Buck she wanted at all or his quiet – it was Dick. She wanted what they'd had in that room in Paris, that honesty and warmth, even though she'd been sad she still felt safe cause he was there with his heart and his breathing to keep her going; but she knew he'd want answers, that he'd shadow her to see she was okay, it wouldn't be quiet. There'd be no peace.

So she stood quietly observing the two men say goodbye, one who'd watched his closest friends get blown to pieces and the other who's closest friend had died. Muck, that shit-eating asshole who was actually fairly sweet; the world wasn't fair. There she was alive and she didn't care to be, but people like Muck and Hoobler who'd made people's lives better by existing were dead. She was left standing in a winter so cold her bones rattled wondering as she had for weeks what the point of it all was.

She watched Malarkey salute Buck, and then look down as his friend left – like he couldn't figure it out either. He looked up when he felt her beside him expecting sympathy or compassion, what he got was her staring quietly at the sky. Without much to do, or say because what was he supposed to ask when she looked starved to death, he raised his eyes to join her. For several seconds all he could see was white, the sky was nothing but clouds masking any other color. And then suddenly he began to see the individual flurries appearing out of the clouds, become something separate, as they floated soundlessly to the ground. He could almost pretend this was peace, that he didn't have a war to get back to, that the woman beside him wasn't now as fragile as snowflake falling silently and without complaint to the ground where she'd be trampled on until there was nothing left of her to distinguish from the rest.

"Woodridge," a medic called from the doorway of the aid station. "Get your ass back inside."

Malarkey turned to see her rolling her eyes, looking only a fraction more like herself. "We can make a run for it," he offered with a half-hearted grin.

She looked at his once bright eyes finding the light had dimmed, and looked to the dirt covered ground shaking her head. Without anything to say she turned and left him there, returning to her cot where she was immediately given some form of mush to eat.

…

Her next few days went on much the same. She sat on her cot staring at the meager roof, or snuck outside to stand in the snow imagining it washing her clean – though really she was aiming for hypothermia – or occasionally answered a call to help. There wasn't much for her to do, or rather much she was allowed to do – Colonial Sink himself had come down giving the orders that she was to rest and recoup, and she was not to leave until she'd put on some goddamn weight.

So she sat, she ate, she breathed, she existed, and not once did she want to.

"You want me to tell anyone you're here?" Roe asked one time he came by. He'd looked for any reason to find his way back, to see that she was alright cause he didn't think she'd get there on her own. "Joe's been missin you." That was an understatement, his eyes were so dark they were almost black he was so wired and anxious – and worse he didn't even realize it. Roe had tried just about everything to entice her back to Easy knowing her healing lay there; Winters, who he was still certain was the one she needed, George, Liebgott, the fact that so many had been lost or wounded the guys deserved to see she was alright.

"She still not responding?" Dick asked when Roe appeared at his foxhole after having gone to see her, having been politely ordered to report each time the medic saw her.

Roe stood with his hands in his pockets jostling around trying to get warm. "Oh she's responding, she just ain't talking." Her mouth might not say anything but her eyes did, and half the time they said get the fuck away from me and whoever happened to be in her line of sight was quick to comply. Except Roe, he gave her his own stern look and warned her against it.

Dick smiled, that sounded like Chris. "She look any better?" He'd finally been able to get Roe to admit her condition, Nixon almost had to hold him down to keep him from going to her himself.

"She's eatin more," he answered, cause she still looked too thin. "Can walk a little further before she gets tired." It seemed so unnatural to say, she'd been so strong and muscular, now she could barely walk around the compound without getting breathless.

That didn't sound like Chris, no part of it did. It almost sounded as though she was trying to keep her distance, because Colonial Sink didn't want her leaving the aid station unless she was well enough to survive the elements – which he apparently didn't think she was. "And she's still refusing to come back?" he asked needing the clarification, because even though Sink had ordered it she'd never been very good at following rules.

It left him with much to mull over, when he had the time for it. That was the problem, she needed immediate attention and unless she was there in his foxhole he couldn't give it – they were already planning their attack on Foy, he had no confidence in Pike to see Easy through it. And so naturally Nixon took care of it, forcing all hands involved in a way only he could. He went to Sink himself, said she wasn't getting better and Dick was on his way to distracted – it'd be better for all parties if she was there. He even suggested that it stay only on a need to know basis, meaning no one outside HQ would know she was there. And Sink, after hearing from Dick himself how she was faring – or more accurately, how she wasn't faring – reluctantly agreed on the condition she came on her own, but if she so much as coughed she was to be back at the aid station first thing.

The whole conspiring took place in pieces, Christine Roi was hardly the most pressing issue at hand and unless there was a lull in German activity there was little time to waste conversing on her health.

It happened after the attack on Foy, when they'd been briefed on Hitler's counter attack and the 101st's response to it – they were moving to the town of Haguenau. At the end of the briefing Sink pulled Dick aside, told him if he wanted her to join them she'd have to do it by morning before they moved out – or else she was gonna stay, take up her role as a medic cause lord knew they needed all they could get.

It left Dick without much to do, he had work to do and as it always seemed no time to spare for her – and he had a feeling it'd take all night to convince her to come back. He didn't have all night, he didn't have an hour.

"You wanted to see me Captain Winters."

Dick looked up at the stoic man wondering how he hadn't seen it before, if he'd really been so busy he hadn't at least once thought that this man was the only person who could get her to do anything. "I'll make this brief Speirs, she's at an aid station refusing to come, I need you to get her to agree and get back so I can brief you on our next plan of action."

That first feminine pronoun hit him square in the chest. He'd let her go months before, if she thought she'd die he thought she probably would've. He wasn't too fond of the sound of her refusing to get back to her Company, she should've crawled her way to Winters' side. "Yes, sir," he said saluting before turning on his heel and yelling the nearest jeep.

It was relatively quiet at the aid station, those wounded at Foy for the most part had been shipped to a hospital, a few of the lesser wounded went to the convent to listen to the choir, and those left were sleeping. Every noise was heard, and so when a man came asking for Private Woodridge she heard it, and she recognized the voice. She couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her mouth, bitter as it was, it was good move on Dick's part cause Speirs wasn't leaving without her. And she was right, the second he saw the dark circles around her eyes and the edge of her sunken cheeks he just about carried her out.

 


	16. I don't know why

_February 5_ _th_ _, 1945 – Haguenau, France_

Returning to E Company wasn't at all what David Webster thought it'd be. There was little warmth to be found in the weather or the soldiers; not even Luz had a joke to spare. Web had no illusions that it would be easy, the first time he'd been wounded and taken off the line he'd had to answer every question about where he'd been and why he hadn't come back sooner – this time he'd been hurt worse and was gone twice as long. If anything he at least expected high morale from the 'battered bastards of Bastogne', the proclaimed heroes whose efforts had possibly been a turning point in the war. What he found were solemn, bitter, cold, and tired men who'd gone weeks fighting without end.

And whatever hope he'd had when he found second platoon's convoy and recognized every face, was quickly snuffed out by the more than lackluster welcoming. He'd known Malarkey, Grant, McClung, Ramirez, and Liebgott from Toccoa, and knew Babe and Jackson after D-Day as they were both replacements. The only person Web wasn't entirely sure about was the solider that sat behind where Malarkey stood making no effort to look his way, but even then he thought he recognized the shape of their face; the sharp nose, big eyes, and perpetually frowning mouth, he just couldn't quite put his finger on it. Before he could figure it out, because it was on the tip of his tongue, Malarkey shifted his weight as though to hide the soldier behind him.

In all honesty, he felt as much like a replacement as he was treated; nothing was as he remembered, half the guys he knew had been wounded or were dead, and he felt as though no one remembered him. As if he hadn't struggled through Toccoa, hadn't been there for D-Day or Market Garden, and hadn't been shot in the leg in Holland. Somehow he was having to start over.

He took Jackson's hand pulling himself onto the truck and looked to Liebgott, noticing his already dark eyes had gotten darker. "Is Chris in a different platoon or is she on her own?" he asked knowing if anyone would welcome him it'd be her. Not that he really thought he meant anything to her, but he was the only one who shared her fervor in reading – and he really did consider her a friend. And if anyone would know where she was it was Joe Liebgott. Only at the mention of her name Joe's eyes blackened and he turned to the horizon without answering. Web's stomach dropped, there was no way she'd been hit, he refused to believe that.

In the end it was Babe who answere. "You got eyes?" he demanded, not remembering Web or caring to. "She's right there."

David turned with bright eyes and a grin realizing it  _was_  her sitting behind Malarkey, the cigarette dangling from her lips should've given it away. "Thought that was you, how have you been?" he asked, though what he really wanted to know was why she and Joe were sitting three people apart and he'd not once looked at her. Web couldn't remember a time Joe wasn't looking at her, they'd been inseparable.

They all turned wondering for a brief moment if she'd answer, but she didn't even pretend to notice she'd been spoken to. "Don't expect a response," Malarkey told him without looking at either Web or Chris, having already known she wasn't saying a damn thing.

Oh darling, I've been so miserable – that's what she would've said if she'd spoken. He would've understood, it would've made him smile because she'd quoted his favorite book over hers. But she said nothing, she didn't turn to him didn't defend him when Joe got on him about missing Bastogne. She kept smoking, took a long slow drag held it in her lungs and exhaled. All she had to do was breathe; inhale exhale, repeat. So why the hell did she find it so hard?

"Come on lets go," Malarkey ordered when they came to a stop.

She sat jostling on the bench as they climbed out, standing only when Malarkey turned and tapped her arm to get her moving. Following her quick impatient steps around the truck he called out to his platoon, "spread out, hold along this line til I figure out where we're goin." He watched her scan the area around them and stop on Captain Speirs, and though she said nothing she at least turned back to her platoon sergeant to wait for his permission. "Go on," he told her quietly, knowing she was only using Speirs to find Winters – who she spent most of her time with.  
There wasn't much she could actually do or that they'd let her do, she was still far too thin and easily winded to be of any use as a soldier. She truly was their medic for the time being and she'd never been great at it, however she spent as much time with Nixon and she often brought back a map and a plan and as Malarkey himself wasn't feeling very chatty lately the two often conversed in detail without ever uttering a word.

"Serg?"

She turned only to see Web's clean-shaven handsome face before she left both men to keep walking toward the one she wanted. However the sound of a mortar's gentle whistling had Web throwing himself to the ground, which happened to be by her feet. She stood having never flinched turning from his pitiful display to Malarkey, who looked up from Web to see the roll of her eyes – quiet as she was, she was still Chris. "What's the matter there Webster," he asked almost laughing, "nervous in the service?"

Breathlessly Web answered, "no, no I'm fine Serg." It'd been a while since his heart had raced like that, a while since he'd been that close to enemy fire.

"Why don't you talk to Captain Speirs," he said pointing to the Captain's retreating form, "make sure he wants you with us." He looked at Chris to see her still standing where she'd stopped and he gave her a short nod, which she returned with another roll of her eyes.

David remarked on that, having remembered Winters being Captain and Speirs only being Sergeant. But even that had changed, Winters was now X.O. and Easy had a new Captain. He turned at someone stepping in his peripheral to see Chris, only she didn't look much like the woman he'd kept a picture of in his mind – she'd been lovely in the most provocative way, usually in fear, but she'd been quick witted and alive. Her cheekbones hadn't cut through her skin like knives nor did her once pretty eyes seem so dull. He followed her gaze to his jacket and quickly dusted the snow off of himself realizing how foolish and untrained he'd seemed.

She looked up at his sweet face and raised a hand to brush the snow from his cheek. Without a word she turned expecting him to follow, then another whistle sounded and thankfully this time he only tucked himself low against the side of the building. It was still a nuisance to her and she was quick to grab the back of his jacket and pull him after her as she made for the building command post was stationed.

Now this was familiar to him. She'd always been too strong for fear, never flinching in the face of danger, and an incredibly short fuse to her patience – it made him smile as he righted himself and followed her. He tried talking a little bit, asked how she was again but she didn't turn to him nor did she slow her pace. She walked with as much purpose as she always had, only now he could hear her breathing deepen as though she'd just wasted all the energy she had; and with how small she now looked he wouldn't be surprised if she had. She also entered a room the same way, as if she belonged to hell with whether or not it was true. Web though slowed his pace when they entered the building and took everything in, saw the busy way everyone moved, noticed the only people wearing helmets were Chris and himself and he was quick to remove his.

"Hey, look who it is," George said when he saw Web's fresh face standing in the hall. "Nice digs, huh Web?" he asked without stopping as he moved back to the corner of the room.

David turned to where an almost green Lipton sat leaning back on a couch breathing heavily. "Sergeant Lipton," he greeted slowly. "Feeling alright?"

Luz came back with a blanket. "Hey look what I found," he said before throwing it over Lip. "Here you go." He looked up at Web. "He's got pneumonia, which that one" he pointed at where Chris stood to the left the couch clearly intending to follow where Speirs went, "gave him. She apologize yet, Lip?" George grinned at the look she threw him, taking every little bit she gave.

She caught the bundle he tossed her to see it was another blanket to go with the one she already had in her pack. She stood looking at it a moment before shaking her head and continuing on her way further in the house after Ron, cause he'd know where Dick was.

"Christ, kid," Ron said exasperated at the sight of her. "Reason we put you with Joe's so you'd stay with him. You're not crawlin back in Dick's bed." He watched her eyes harden, saw the attitude and the lip she would've given him had she been in mind to actually give it. "Watch your damn mouth," he told her as he grabbed a nice looking clock off a shelf. "Now come on, you're not staying."

Grinding her teeth she turned to follow him, contemplating taking the clock from him just to piss him off – though why he had it she didn't know, he never told her and she never asked. The harsh thud of her boots on the wood of the floor sounded her irritation as she walked around him to stand in the doorway at David's back, waiting to take him with her because their platoon really had faired the worst.

"OP2, don't come back unless you're sent for," he told her looking up at her brief enough to see an anger that came with agreement before he turned to Lipton.

She stood seeing Web turn every so often to look at her, probably hoping she'd at least say hello, possibly because he knew her well enough to not like that she wasn't in his line of sight – but he'd always liked her too much to care for his safety around her so she figured he just wanted to follow whatever lead she set so he'd know what to do and how to stand. She did her best, for the most part it was a casual place where curses were said and a spare joke given, but she didn't feel very much like leaning in the doorway acting like it didn't bother her that she was being forced back to a platoon where she was of no actual use since no one would fucking let her do anything. But she did try, which was a testament to how much she'd like David.

As fate would have it, because lately it seemed as if fate only laughed at her, Winters walked in the door – the reason she'd left her platoon in the first place. And with Nix at his back who was a strong advocator to having her and Dick separated, which meant there was no way she'd get to stay.

"Listen up," Dick said calling their attention to him. "Regiment wants patrol for prisoners."

"This one comes straight from Sink, so," Nix said from Dick's side, "not my idea."

Dick stepped further in the room no happier with this mission than Lew, but it's what was happening. "Since the river's the main line of resistance we're gonna have to cross it to get to them." He didn't include there being a full moon that night to leave the men exposed without cover however long it took them to get across; his men were being made into targets, and it set his teeth on edge.

"What do we do?" Speirs asked.

Looking to Speirs was when Dick first noticed she was in attendance, she was much easier found now that she was by far the smallest of them. But he didn't have time to spare her in that moment so his eyes fell back on the Captain. "There's a three-story building on the enemy's side up the embankment. We know it's occupied, you have can fifteen men. Think very hard who you want to have lead the patrol. We'll need a lead scout," his eyes flicked to Chris briefly seeing a familiar light in her eyes at having done something she wasn't supposed to, "a translator. I've got the entire battalion on covering fire."

"When?" Speirs asked curtly, a sigh possibly of exhaustion heard faintly at the end of his question.

"Tonight, zero one hundred." He waited for a verbal agreement before telling him, "I want this one to be as fool proof and as safe as possible."

Nix turned from Dick and looked to Easy's new captain. "Yeah don't take any chances on this one, we're too far along for that."

Chris didn't know whether to scoff or roll her eyes at Lew's optimism, as apathetically as he gave it; there would be several months more of fighting, of that she was sure. Which meant more deaths, there was still a way for them to die – there'd always be a way for them to die. And they'd die the same way they'd been living; making up reasons why it meant something.

That was the face Web turned to see when Winters finished. He expected her to volunteer, she was their best scout always had been – he was honestly surprised she hadn't been sent out earlier to map the entire town across the river to figure out what buildings were occupied and by whom. She was being kept from all missions, it wasn't surprising she was pale and every so often a thick wet cough snuck up on her that she did her best to smother – and yet there she stood like a kid with their hand in cookie jar silently smoking another cigarette.

After speaking with Speirs briefly about who to send, he turned to their best option yet the one he continued to refuse. "Chris," he said loud enough for her to hear, not wanting to be overheard. He didn't know if her body would ever stand at attention again, if her back were able to straighten from the weight of all she held to her without ever letting go – she was drowning, and what was worse was that every time he tried to reach for her she purposefully moved out of his reach. "I gave specific orders for you to remain on this side of the river last night. If I find even the slightest infraction I'll have you shipped to England, you already know it's what Sink wants. Is that clear?" he said it all through clenched teeth, caught somewhere between livid and hopeful that this meant she truly was getting better.

"Yes sir." Her voice was a soft breath neither of them heard, but her mouth had formed the words with the intention of answering; and as she'd known his faced softened and his steeled spine loosened, he honestly looked like he wanted to kiss her.

And in that moment he briefly considered it: Nix was right after all, throwing her back into Easy with more people waiting expectantly was forcing her to get well. It didn't mean he liked it, he preferred working through the day knowing when night came he could return to a bed she occupied where he'd fall asleep beside her. "You're to report to me at sixteen hundred hours, plan to stay the night."

She gave a nod this time, her mouth feeling dryer than if she'd been dehydrated, and watched his steps take him to Nix's side. Her gaze left him only when a shoulder nudged her and she turned to see Web's smirking face.

"You never were good at doing what you were told," he said remembering her as a smart mouthed cold hearted woman he just might've been in love with if she didn't scare him shitless half the time. The woman he saw now was still cold, but her heart was more evident than ever and at that moment it was hurting. A cloud of smoke surrounded her hiding that pain behind her shadowed eyes too afraid to come to the light, of the judgment that would follow. He wondered, seeing her not quite expressionless face, if she planned to stay exposed like this forever.

"Captain," the two turned to the young man standing at attention at his sudden loud voice, "request permission to go on the patrol."

While Web stared at the green lieutenant Chris rolled her eyes and turned for the door not wanting to be apart of their talking anymore, it wasn't like Speirs had any plan to send her on the patrol anyway – and if he'd known she snuck off the night before he might go so far as to tie her to a bed. If she hadn't heard Web's name before she closed the door she might've forgotten all about him, it left her sighing as she leaned against the building waiting for him and Jones to come out so she could escort them back to their platoon.

"I didn't think you'd wait," Web said when he saw her. She stood with her arms crossed around her middle trembling as if she were caving in on herself; it wasn't until then he realized just how unwell she looked. "This is Chris, I don't know if you were told about her."

"Her?" Lieutenant Jones asked trying to get a closer look of the soldier's face, but she was bent at angle clearly freezing and he could see little more than the point of her nose.

David nodded pulling out the paper he'd drawn a map on to find where they were going. "She's OSS," he gave as an answer. Though at Jones' continued silence he looked up to see where awe or fear should've been only confusion. "She's a spy." There it was, the wide eyes and slack jaw as he quickly looked back at Chris thinking it wasn't possibly true.  
David looked at her too thinking she might say something to scare the poor kid like she used to, but she only took a long drag before pulling her scarf up over her nose. This wasn't the Chris he remembered, the one he thought sounded like she'd been pulled straight from the pages of a book. This Chris could only wish to be stronger, because in that moment coping was all she had the strength to manage. Without appearing to notice they were there and speaking to her she threw out her blunt, straightened herself, and turned to face the world.

At first they scrambled after her not wanting to be left behind in case they didn't find OP2. But then loud cracks of gunfire sounded and they crouched low behind a makeshift trench until they figured out where it was coming from. David looked first to the Lieutenant, whose heart was pounding just as fiercely, and then to Chris. She didn't take cover, he didn't think she'd even flinched. She walked just as steadily as she had moments before without any pretense of potentially being shot at, she just carried on. It wasn't in a manner worthy to be called fearless, it bordered closer to indifference.  
Watching her David realized not every cry for help sounded like a plea, just as not every act of self destruction left a mark: she starved her lungs with nicotine, she walked through gunfire without care. Somewhere there was a line between apathy and suicidal and Chris was somewhere on the line letting the wind decide which side she'd fall. He was left staring at her shrinking form wondering where a person went after they'd lost themselves.

…

The answer was simple: she felt it tugging like a string on her heart pulling her forward without pause. A mortar exploded less than a hundred feet behind her, the men around her dropped to their bellies or ran for cover, but she kept moving like the ghost she was back to the home she continued to haunt. She didn't go to his side, didn't steal his warmth and his company – if the end came that day merely sitting in the same room as him was enough. At least for her.

Joe looked up at the sound of boots on the floor to see Chris had come back to company, wondering why Winters hadn't let her stay – she'd been with him the night before, she snuck off to his room the night before that. He knew if she had it her way she'd have never come back to Easy at all. He took a drink of his coffee not caring that it burned his tongue when it was something warm, watching her stop at the table Malarkey stood. So far he was the only person she responded to, said an occasional word, gave an occasional smile – though really it was nothing more than a twitch of her mouth as though she'd forgotten how. Babe was the one who made sure she ate, having taken Gene's words to heart that she eat every last bit of what she was given and she was given enough to feed two men; Ramirez gave her shit, half playful and mostly serious, hoping to force her to retaliate; Jackson took her books when there was a chance to read. She didn't do much more than stare and even then she could barely hold their eye for a few seconds before she moved away, usually to Malarkey's side, and sometimes to Winters but like now she was normally sent back – and if her staying with the man overnight was anything to go by Joe knew it wasn't because Winters wanted it, it was probably Speirs who sent her back.

Joe'd been so fucking relieved when she showed up one day in their truck, then Malarkey had told them leave her alone. In that moment watching her turn her back on them he knew something was wrong with her. His relief was gone, his worry came back, and his mood got blacker the more time he spent near her without her actually being there. It'd be easier if she just fucking left.

"Hey guys."

It was no surprise Web wasn't far behind her, he'd always liked her a little too much and she'd always liked him – from the beginning the two had been thick as thieves always talking about some author, or Web had gotten a book for her to read, but a lot of the time they argued over whose opinion was right which ended with them being impressed by the other's intelligence. It just about made Joe's blood boil, after Lieutenant Jones was introduced, to see Web's eyes search the room and land on Chris - who by then had moved to the window.

Web didn't say anything this time when he stopped at her side, gathering that she wasn't feeling talkative. Pieces were slowly falling into place about what all he'd missed: something had happened to her, that much was obvious, turning Joe recalcitrant and cruel and the reason to that was just as obvious in that he loved her and he wanted her to be okay. The others kept their distance from her, staring from afar but only when she wasn't looking; with the way Malarkey hovered in both body and stare David could guess he'd told the men to keep their distance most likely because she didn't want them near her.

He watched her shrug her pack off and then waited as she rifled through it. He took what she handed him and turned it over to see the faded torn cover of 'The Sun Also Rises.' "Thanks," he said with a smile, realizing that though she was quiet she was still communicating. She remembered him, more than that this was his welcome – and god did it feel good to feel like someone was glad to see him. Even if she wasn't much of herself.

She shook her head feeling her mouth trying to curl and grabbed a chair, hearing Lieutenant Jones telling Malarkey about the patrol – she could practically feel the tension from the men who overheard, namely Joe, it was like electricity running up her spine. Dropping the chair in front of the window she sat and pulled her helmet off setting it on her bag. In all her musings about death and how much easier it'd be she always forgot about how beautiful the sky was, even on a day as grey as today she could appreciate the different colors that all came together to make up something that at first glance only appeared bright. There were little wisps of something dark, a smudge of gray, a lot of white from the fog; it was like a picture. And she always forgot how much she liked looking at it.

The breath had gone out of Web the moment she took her helmet off. She had beautiful dark hair that at one point had been straight but when it was cut to her chin it'd gotten a little curl at the ends. What he saw was the dusting of fine hair on a shaved head, one side of which had a jagged cut that was still red and scabbed. He looked at her so pained, this piece falling into place just like the rest: what'd happened was Germans. It was no wonder she didn't want to talk, she was probably afraid of what she'd say – if it'd end in tears.

She looked up at him, her face so young and frail of a thing, coming face to face with the only person who really understood the inside of her mind. It was a dark place, a scary place, but he understood it and occasionally he'd been able to see the beauty in; had often told her she was made to have been written by Hemingway. "The world breaks everyone," she told him softly, so gently he almost didn't hear her.

"And afterward many are stronger in the broken places," he said refusing for her to stop at only the bad parts. She had a habit of finding comfort in the broken thinking herself beyond repair, of thinking only of the end and not what came after.

But she shook her head sadly, a quivering smile forming for a brief second on her mouth before it fell. "But those that will not break it kills."

He put his hand on her shoulder, had he been anyone else she might've flinched. But she stomached his touch, begging him to find the light for her because she was drowning in the dark. "You're not dead," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder for good measure so she'd feel she was still there.

Her head drooped and her gaze turned once more to the window. "Then why do I feel so cold?"

He was quick to drop to his knees and go through her pack, looking for the blanket Luz had thrown at her. Wrapping it around her narrow shoulders he felt how sharp her bones were without the flesh to soften them, and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do.

"Hey Web."

He turned to see Joe walking toward him. "What?" he asked looking back to Chris, wondering if maybe Joe would know what to do.

But Joe put a hand on his shoulder. "Come here," he said and when Web didn't move he pulled him away from Chris. "I wanna talk to you a second, come here."

"Why?" Web was quick to ask, not trusting him when the last thing Joe had told him was a lie about Malarkey being made a lieutenant.

Joe forced his tin of coffee into Chris' hand, and upon feeling that it was cold as ice he pulled the blanket further around her shoulders. "You want some coffee?" he asked turning back to Web as he got himself another.

Chris sighed as she sipped the coffee she'd been given, it was bitter, burnt, and all around unpleasant – at least compared to what they had in HQ and even then that wasn't much better. But she could taste Joe from the place he'd put his mouth, and she held onto that as long as she could. The warmth was comforting, it did little to stop the trembling in her bones but at least it warmed her hands.

It'd be a long day of waiting to see Dick, who was the only thing that quieted her clattering bones, of passing through every minute into every hour just waiting. And then four would come around and she'd go to his bed and curl under the covers where it was quiet and still, the war outside and then men beneath her were muffled, and she could almost pretend it felt like peace. But then another couple hours later he'd come in worried about the mission, wouldn't sleep at all that night, and he'd spend most of their time reprimanding her for her actions last night. And not once would he say that it was relief to know the intelligence came from her, that it meant it was thorough and sound, and his men knew where they were going and who was surrounding them. He'd think it, he'd be grateful, but he'd never say it because he'd be too busy stressing the importance of her obedience as a solider – especially now that her main position was a paratrooper – but what he really wanted to say was goddamn you for scaring me when I woke up to find you gone.

"Listen up."

She turned at Malarkey's risen voice wondering who was going on the patrol, having left before she'd remembered to care to listen.

"I've got some bad news," Malarkey told them pulling his hat off in his frustration. "There is a patrol set for tonight. So far Speirs wants McClung,"

"We know," McClung said.  
"Yeah we just fuckin heard," Babe said, and Chris knew from his spite it meant he was going too. No more was the sweet Philly boy who could barely look her in the eye, he was bitter and tired, and mostly just sad. He did a good job looking after her though, and she often let herself be a little more stubborn cause dealing with her took his mind off everything else and he'd crack a joke to try to get her to smile. Good intelligence or not she didn't want him to go; it wasn't a position she was used to being in, caring for others, thinking about them constantly. She forgot how to shove it to the back of her mind, to not dwell on it, she forgot how to not care. And caring, she found, was a real pain in the ass.

She turned back to the window when Malarkey answered the phone, didn't bother much with listening as he told them their P.X. rations had finally come in – a month too late when they had a warm house to sleep in – nor did she care for the shower, she'd been informed earlier an old tub had been found in one of the buildings and it was moving to HQ, meaning to Dick's quarters, where Roe would be able to give her a full evaluation and decide whether she was fit to actually be out on the line.

What she did listen to was the railroad gun, that both sounded and felt like a freight train – the windowpanes clattered beside her, she grabbed the pot from the ledge before it fell, she felt the house quivering beneath her feet.

"Alright let's move, clear out," Malarkey yelled as the men all scrambled to their feet. He grabbed the Lieutenant and threw him out of the door and down the stairs.

Chris sat in her chair by the window watching the shell hit the building beside them blowing the whole front wall out. She blinked as the smoke and debris settled listening for another round but hearing only silence. There was no sigh of relief, no smile from her at her fortune, she simply placed her cup on the sill and pulled the blanket around her making for the stairs.

"Alright showers, come on," Malarkey said no more caught off guard than she'd been, though he at least remembered the correct response to hearing a mortar. When he saw her slowly making her way the down the stairs he reached a hand up and waited til she got close enough to grab her arm and pull her along. "How many damn times do I have to tell you to fucking take cover," he said escorting her out of the building. "Speirs would have my head on a fucking stick if I let you get yourself killed, and Winters wouldn't do a damn thing to stop him. I mean what would you do if you'd been killed? Christ."

She let him pull her, let him bitch, it didn't really bother her much anymore that he behaved liked a mother hen and she was the wayward chick who kept trying to befriend the cat. "I'd be dead, I wouldn't do anything," she mumbled so quietly she didn't know if her lips even moved.

But he knew she was thinking it and he gave her hard look as he let her go. There was nothing to do but shake his head, if she didn't want to try he couldn't force her – she was too damn stubborn and they both knew it. "I'm sure you were told you're gettin a bath later?" he asked seeing her nod as she buried her nose beneath the blanket. And there went his anger, this skinny wet kitten had been dropped in his hands and it was his job to take care of it; only this kitten was a fucking bitch most of the time and had just about the sharpest claws and refused the help offered her. Somewhere in her messy, tangled, endangered mind was the Chris they all knew – it was just taking her a while to lick her wounds, and soon she'd be down to bone and he honestly didn't know who she'd be then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place in episode eight, "The Breaking Point." I don't know how well I did but my goal this chapter was to show that Chris is a little raw; think of a really deep cut, the surface is broken and you can see deeper beneath the skin. We're seeing a little more of her that we hadn't been before. And I said it way too much this chapter but she is really thin, and in terms of real life a month of starvation does a number on the body; mainly her immune system was compromised so her bout of pneumonia really kicked her hard. So we're seeing her in this chapter at the end of her getting well, cause really only a week and a half before she'd been bedridden. So she really isn't fit to be fighting, she should be in a hospital; except of course for the fact that she is a she, and they can't expose her.
> 
> Also, next chapter will hopefully not be as depressing (though still quite sad cause she's hurting); I've got a handful of pretty sweet moments planned to hopefully balance it. As always, thank you so very much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> I have the utmost respect for the men of Easy Company and what they did for this country and I mean them absolutely no disrespect by writing this, this story is based solely on the portrayal of the men in the mini-series. As for Christine Roi, or Christian Woodridge, there's a lot of mystery surrounding her and who exactly she is, and I hope to keep her that way. The way I've tried to construct her is that she's basically the prototype for what an agent of the CIA will be - but the CIA isn't actually established yet, that comes in '47. But she's been trained in the OSS in a specific way, and she has quite the skill list. So that's just a very vague description of what I'm planning to do with her, cause I don't wanna give too much away. Please let me know if you're interested in reading more, and thank you very much for reading.


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